


The Perfect Sting

by geekalogian



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-31 21:59:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3994441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekalogian/pseuds/geekalogian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma Swan has been a Mystery Diner for three years, secretly entering restaurants for a hidden camera show to reveal to restaurant owners what really goes on when they’re gone.  When she gets paired with a handsome new recruit for a sting that requires an engaged couple, she gets more than she signed on for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It started with the bakery.

Emma had worked a lot of restaurant stings for Isaac in the past three years-he usually brought her on for her waitressing experience. Don some hidden camera glasses and an earpiece, wait tables at the place for a couple days, help the owners see all the crazy crap that their employees were getting into. She had seen food being sold out the back door, theft and embezzlement, she had even accidentally walked in on two employees going hot and heavy in a bathroom cubicle. She’d taken a shower-several showers, in fact-after that one.

But today, when she sat down with Isaac to go over the files, it was something entirely different. “A bakery? I’m not really sure how I can help. I don’t know the first thing about baking.”

“It’s pretty straightforward,” Isaac shrugged. “Regina took over her mother’s bakery after a couple years living abroad, and she’s had some strange complaints about one of the bakers her mom hired a few years back. It’s costing her some revenue. She’s questioned Zelena about the canceled orders, and Zelena insists that it’s just a string of bad customers.”

“So what,” Emma looked over the file again. “You want me to order a cake and see if she delivers on what I asked for?”

“Something like that,” Isaac smirked. “I’m also hoping you can break in the new guy.”

Emma cocked an eyebrow. “What new guy?”

“You’ve got a lunch meeting with Killian tomorrow,” Isaac handed her a sticky note with an address scribbled down. “You two need to pose as an engaged couple looking to order a wedding cake.”

“WHAT?” Emma sat bolt upright, locking eyes with Isaac, searching his face for any trace of a joke. There wasn’t one. “Come on, Isaac, that’s why you called me in? There’s no one else you could do this with? Isn’t Ruby free or something?”

“Ruby actually knows something about baking, which you - as you already mentioned - don’t,” Isaac suppressed a smile. “She’ll be in the kitchen. Besides-I’ve got a feeling you guys will sell this really well.”

Emma let her forehead descend to the table with a gentle thump. There was no arguing with him. And she hated to admit it, but Isaac usually had a pretty good sense of how people fit together.

“Fine,” she grumbled. “But the ring had better be awesome.”

\---

“So you have to be engaged to this guy? For how long?” Elsa leaned across the arm of her chair with interest, her hot cocoa almost forgotten on the end table beside her.

“Just like two months or so. It’s the off-season for weddings, so we didn’t have to book a meeting too far in advance.” Emma cupped her own mug of cocoa with both hands, descending immediately into a cross-legged heap on the sofa. “And anyway, it’s only when we meet with her. The sting will be in February. I meet with the guy - Killian, I guess - tomorrow afternoon. Then the first consultation will be later in the week, as soon as we can schedule something with her. That’s the tasting. Then I guess we have to take a week or so to look like we’re ‘shopping around.’ Then we do the actual planning of the cake, when we give her our weird request. I call a couple times to follow up, and then we go in on the day of the sting to see the finished product.”

Elsa giggled. “You know, I could give you a few pointers on what to ask. I did help my sister plan _her_ wedding.”

“Oh shut up,” Emma rolled her eyes, but Elsa’s giggles were relentless. “It’s not like a real wedding is going to happen. We’re just going to go eat free cake and tell her we want brown chocolate icing on the outside and see if she flips a lid. That’s it.”

Elsa finally stopped laughing, but only after Emma glared at her for a good minute. “Fine. You might as well have fun with it, though. What do you know about this Killian guy?”

“His name is Killian Jones, he did some hidden camera stuff when he got out of the British Navy, Isaac found him in casting after he moved to America. That’s all.” Emma shrugged. “I guess I’ll know more tomorrow afternoon. It’s really not a big deal, though.”

“Some would think getting paid to wear an engagement ring and pretend to be engaged to a stranger was a very big deal,” Elsa observed. “Some would think it was an even BIGGER deal if they were already attached.”

Emma’s eyes suddenly widened to the size of dinner plates. Elsa paused, and then returned with her own wide-eyed stare.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t told Walsh yet.”

Emma set her cocoa down on the coffee table, and then quietly slid down to lay on the sofa, hoping that the soft suede would swallow her whole.

_“Crap.”_


	2. Chapter 2

The next day was crisp but sunny, and Emma scoped out the least conspicuous table at Granny’s Diner to plop down and await her fake fiance. After three years of witnessing the absolute worst the restaurant world had to offer, Emma found herself very suspicious of most diners. Granny’s, though, had kept her unswerving loyalty. It was so hard to find a place that could just transform a grilled cheese into something _magical_. 

“Usual please,” she waved to Granny from the counter, and flicked through the notifications on her phone idly.

 _A missed call from Walsh. Perfect._ She swiped to dismiss the alert. He’d understand, of course. He’d totally understand. It was the job.

She was still staring at the phone when a low and smooth accented voice piped up above her. “Pardon me, love. Is this seat taken?”

Emma looked up, and had to work to keep her jaw from falling straight into her lap.

She was arrested first by the eyes–crazy blue. Just … crazy. Photoshop blue, even. Piercing and intense and… of course the face holding them could have come from the same Photoshop session, with that perfectly sculpted jaw and just the right amount of stubble and slightly shaggy dark hair that begged to be teased and mussed and played with. Add a lean but muscular frame wrapped in black leather, a navy blue waistcoat and an oddly perfect dark floral-print shirt and… .

Emma had planned something clever and professional to begin her first meeting with Killian Jones, but all that came out was, “Um.”

A broad grin spread across his face, tongue running behind his teeth. “You must be Emma Swan.” He took the seat across from her, leaving her to gather herself while he settled in. He outstretched a hand. “Killian Jones, at your service.”

And in just two sentences, Killian had managed to tell her everything she needed to know. Emma’s expression instantly morphed from dumbfounded wonder to hardened disinterest. “I’ll just bet you are,” She scoffed. “Let’s get down to business, okay? I have a _real_ date later.”

Killian put a hand to his chest, raising an eyebrow and mocking offense. “To think that you would cheat on your doting fiance so quickly,” He gasped. “What will our parents think? Should I cancel the invitations?” He broke into that grin again–Emma did not feel her stomach flutter then, not in the slightest–reading her face for any sign of amusement.

There wasn’t any. Well, not much, anyway.

“Hilarious.”

“Temper, temper, darling.” The smile faltered, but not much. “I was only trying to lighten the mood with a new coworker. But I can see you’re in no mood for pleasantries today. To business, then! Do you mind if I consider this a working lunch?” He motioned to Granny, who nodded with a matronly smile behind the counter. Emma blinked. Granny rarely smiled at anyone–even the regulars. Leroy, the loudmouthed trucker who stopped by every weekend while his load was being prepared, could barely get more than a sarcastic quip out of her, and he’d been here for as long as Emma could remember.

“Lovely woman,” Killian remarked, noticing Emma’s surprise. “She’s letting me stay above the diner while I look for more permanent accommodations. Now, tell me something about how Isaac usually runs these stings.”

Emma gave her head a little shake, then returned her attention to Killian’s eyes–and then quickly down to her file, which contained the information Isaac had given her about the bakery and Zelena.

“Basically, there’s a ton of prep work before the actual sting with full-on cameras in the bakery. Obviously the employees can’t suspect anything, or they’ll be tipped off to the whole thing. So right now we’re just laying the groundwork–going in so we can get an estimate on wedding cakes. There will be cameras, though.” Emma reached into her handbag and produced a pair of thick-rimmed glasses. “I’ll wear these, and I assume Isaac has provided you with something similar.”

“He actually told me not to worry about a camera for this job,” Killian replied. “He said you’d have all the equipment needed. He wants me to focus on staying in character until I have the hang of it.”

Emma nodded. Isaac had done something similar when she had gotten started. “Good plan. Should be pretty straightforward then.”

“Once we get our story straight, of course.”

“Story?” Emma repeated, puzzled.

Killian raised that eyebrow, directing Emma’s attention back to his eyes. Fortunately, she was given the chance to break away from his gaze when Granny arrived with their food. “Grilled cheese for you, Emma,” Granny smirked, “And Killian, you had the burger and fries, extra fries. Didn’t know you two knew each other?”

“It’s work,” Emma replied, a little too quickly. “Just work. Killian and I have to do a couple’s sting.”

Killian looked quickly from Granny, to Emma, back to Granny again. “Should we… I mean, Is it okay that she knows–”

“Son, I’ve never once needed cameras or TV hosts to know what’s going on in my diner.” Granny laughed. “Emma’s job is for owners who can’t run a tight enough ship on their own.” She winked at the two of them. “You kids have fun now,” She turned back and started towards the counter.

Emma shivered a bit. “I’ll… uh… tell Walsh you said hi,” she called after. Just to be clear. This was for work. Anyway. “Uh, sorry.” She glanced down at her food, taking a big bite before returning her eyes to Killian. “What were you saying?”

“Story. We just need to come up with one.”

“We hold hands, show off my ring, and taste some cake. Do you think we’ll need more than that?”

Now it was Killian’s turn to look dumbfounded. “You… you’ve never been in love, have you?”

Emma stopped eating, sitting bolt upright. _“Excuse me?”_

“Just… you don’t seem to know a lot about what love looks like.” Killian remarked.

“You think you have a right to say anything about who I am? You don’t even know me!” Emma’s hand tightened around the knife on the table.

“On the contrary,” Killian replied coolly, seemingly unaffected by the sudden shift in mood. “You’re something of an open book. You see, when you’re blissfully happy and planning to spend your life with someone, you can’t shut up about it. You tell everyone the story–everyone. Especially anyone who happens to be a part of planning the happy event.” Killian scanned Emma for any reduction in hostility. Her grip on the knife was loosening–but only a little.

“Furthermore,” he continued, “People who are in the business of planning weddings will ask questions about your interests and desires as a couple. We’re supposed to be planning the biggest celebration of our lives, Swan, and it’s all built around a relationship we’re supposed to be eternally committed to.” His eyes drifted elsewhere, and Emma couldn’t shake the feeling that this was more than just worldly wisdom that Killian was sharing. “People who are supposed to be in love need to know something about each other.”

Emma nodded. “Fine. A story. What do you think we’ll need, since you’re clearly the expert, Love Doctor?”

Killian’s eyes brightened. “That is too good to let go,” he leaned in, licking his lips and practically purring. “Should that be something you call me? A term of endearment for your betrothed, perhaps?”

Emma was back to her stonewall expression. “Story. What we need. Now.”

“Right.” Killian leaned back in his seat, but the grin did not waver. “We’ll need at least the basics–how we met, how I proposed. Obviously we already have the wedding date established in the timeline of the sting. The rest we can probably improvise. Just squeeze hands and go along with it, you know.”

“Squeeze hands and go along,” Emma sighed, reminding herself that this was just part of the job. “Okay. So how did we meet? I mean you’ve only been stateside for a little while, is there something you like to do around here?”

Killian frowned in thought. Emma did not notice the wrinkles on his forehead. At all. “Hmmm. Well, mostly these days I’m keeping myself fit post-navy. There’s a place on the edge of town, not sure you’d know it, but you do seem the athletic sort–a rock climbing place? Ogre Mountain?”

Emma blinked, and smiled for the first time in nearly thirty minutes. “Actually, yeah. I go there all the time when I’m not traveling with this job. They’ve got that amazing tower in the center–”

“The Beanstalk,” Killian finished with a grin. “I’ve almost beaten the record twice now, but I can’t catch up to that top time for the life of me.”

Emma matched his grin with a wicked one of her own. “Well, I guess I do know something about you–you’re slower than _me._ ”

Killian’s eyes widened. “You? You’re the record holder?”

“Guess you’ve never made it to the back of the shop,” she leaned back in her chair, taking another bite of her sandwich. “My picture’s on the wall of fame.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that a woman as lovely and charming as yourself would be so talented,” Killian replied. “Perfect story, though. We met rock climbing. What else?”

“Proposal…”

“Yes, of course.” Killian began to think again, and Emma suddenly had to glance away from the wrinkles on his forehead to see how much of her sandwich was left. None. Crap. She tried not to think about his forehead, or his eyes, or how blue they– _blue._ What if … . 

“What about the water?”

“Come again, love?”

“It’s just I know you were in the navy before, so I’m guessing you probably still like the water.” She said in one breath. “We could say that we like to rent a boat at the harbor sometimes, and you took me sailing, and proposed to me on the water.” She was staring into his eyes now. She had lost track of how long it had been.

Killian nodded slowly, a smile returning to his lips–softer this time, though. “Would you like that?”

“What?” Emma returned to herself, shaking her head a bit.

“Would you like that to be how we got engaged?”

Emma nodded softly before she could stop herself, then her guarded expression returned. “It makes for a good story. Very romantic.”

“Aye,” Killian agreed. “One tiny adjustment–we don’t rent a boat. I own one. So I take you out on that. It’s called the Jolly Roger.”

Emma couldn’t resist a laugh. “Seriously? You went full-on pirate, huh?”

Killian shot her a wounded expression. “Some would consider that romantic, too.”

“It’s perfect.” She smiled. “Adds ambiance to the whole thing. I love it.”

“As do I,” Killian nodded. He finished the last of his fries, leaving the two-thirds-eaten burger to the side. “There’s only one detail left to attend to.”

“And what is that?” Emma responded, leaning in despite herself.

“This,” Killian leaned in as well, sliding a velvet-covered box across the table and into her hand, pressing her fingers closed around it. “Emma Swan, will you do me the great honor of becoming my pretend wife?”


	3. Chapter 3

“And he just … closed your hand around the box?” Elsa’s voice was incredulous on the other end of the phone. Emma let out a sigh, pushing past a slow-walking pack of window shoppers on her way to the park where she was supposed to meet Walsh. Her “engagement” ring box bounced in her pocket with each step–why hadn’t she just stuffed the thing into her bag and forgotten about it until tomorrow?

Tomorrow–they had called the bakery together before their meeting ended. Their work meeting. They did this together because of work. Anyway, Hearts Tarts had a tasting opening the next day. “Never broke eye contact unless I did, either. You should have seen the smug grin on his face when he was proposing.”

“Fake proposing?” Emma tried not to hear the grin on her roommate’s face. She groaned.

“Obviously. That goes without saying.”

“After the picture you sent me, I can see what Isaac was saying about you two fitting together. I mean, you can’t be upset that you have to spend the next few months pretending to be engaged to sexy on a stick there.” That had been another of Killian’s ideas–a few pictures together at the table. They would set them as phone backgrounds tomorrow, in case they were seen. He had pulled his chair next to hers, an easy smile on his face as he drew her close to snap the shot … it had been a little too easy for her to smile, too. The scent of well-worn leather and Nautica Oceans still hadn’t left her nose. Sexy on a stick indeed.

Emma let out a groan. “I don’t even have time to do this with you right now. I’m meeting Walsh. With a ring in my pocket and a cutesy picture with another guy on my phone. For work. It’s going to be… .”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.” It came out as a sigh. Walsh would understand. Definitely. Probably. “Call me in an hour?”

“Of course–just promise you’ll bring home dessert.”

“Chocolate. Cross my heart. Later,” Emma returned the phone to her pocket and swallowed hard a few times when she caught sight of her wiry-framed boyfriend perched by the fountain, waving enthusiastically and brandishing two frappuccinos. She forced a smile, started towards him with the most lighthearted tone of voice she could muster. “So… you’ll never guess what Isaac lined up for me this week… .”

–

Two thirds of a frappuccino later, the babbling sounds of the fountain were all the noise between them. “So …” Walsh started tentatively. “He’s nice? Your fiance?”

“Fake fiance, Walsh. It’s just for work.”

“I mean he must be nice or you wouldn’t be marrying him–”

“Walsh, stop. You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” He turned to her with a glare. “You’ve known about this since Yesterday afternoon and you didn’t think it warranted even a tiny heads up before you met a guy you’re going to have to act romantic with? Does this really mean so little to you? Do I mean so little to you?”

“Cut the crap,” Emma met his glare with one of her own. “You know I don’t pick the jobs. You know I’m good at what I do.”

“Waitressing. You’re a hidden camera waitress and you’re good at waitressing.”

“Excuse me?” Emma stood up. Walsh followed, trying to reach for her hand.

“You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I think you meant it exactly like that. Do you seriously still not get it? I’m helping people here!” Emma pulled away from Walsh’s advances. “I’m helping restaurant owners find out about employees that are costing them money, being rude to people, hurting people–you remember that one place in New Orleans that we had to get pulled out by the cops because of all the illegal stuff going on–this is more than just the crap reality show you so obviously think it is.”

“I never said that–”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Okay, look. Emma.” Walsh took another step towards her. “we’re clearly letting this get out of hand. I’m just saying that this sting… doesn’t seem to be in your wheelhouse.”

“My wheelhouse.” she repeated, eyebrow raised.

“I mean, you’ve always been an employee before. You’re good at that. Are you even going to be able to pull this off, pretending to be in love with someone?” Walsh smirked a bit. “You’ve got to admit, you’re not exactly the warmest or most open, even with me …”

Emma took another step back, crossing her arms. “Maybe because I know I have to walk on pins and needles just to tell you that I’m pretending to be with someone else for work. Maybe because I know you don’t respect my job, or obviously my skills.”

Walsh sighed. “I just think you should keep things the way they are. They’re good. Stick to the inside jobs and let Isaac send someone else out to play pretend.” He gritted his teeth as soon as the last two words escaped his lips.

“Play pretend? You seriously think I’m–you know what? Never mind.” Emma rolled her eyes and headed towards the park exit, Walsh fast on her heels. “It’s obvious that you’re not going to be okay with this, but guess what? I took the job. I’m doing this. We’re meeting the baker for the first time tomorrow.”

“Emma–”

“No. Shut up. I’m done talking about this. I’ll call you when things wrap up at Hearts Tarts. Then maybe you’ll be ready to act like a human being again, instead of the monkey on my back.” Emma gritted her teeth and broke into a jog as Walsh hurried after her. 

“Emma, please!”

“I’ll call you,” she repeated, and rounded the corner and into a crowd before he could stop her again.

Emma stood there, letting the people wash around her, and took a few deep breaths. Idiot. She should have known it would go down like that. She remembered the shouting match that had happened when she’d been at the place in California with the manager with wandering hands. It hadn’t mattered that she’d nearly broken the jerk’s thumb. He always got like this when other guys were involved. Always. It had been a good thing she hadn’t shown him the picture. Or the ring.

Emma ducked into a nearby shop and leaned against the wall, digging into her pocket for the velvet-covered box. “Might as well see the thing,” she mumbled. She looked around to make sure nobody was staring, then slowly opened the box.

She gasped.

The white gold band weaved up and down, elegantly surrounding a frankly stunning diamond in a delicate artistry of… knotwork. It mimicked knotwork. Almost like… “a sailor’s knotwork,” she breathed, and then cleared her throat and snapped the box shut as soon as she felt the eyes of the nearest store attendant on her.

“Can I help you with something, Miss?”

“No–no… I’m fine. Just looking.” Emma smiled, then bolted out of the store as soon as the attendant had turned his back. She made her way to the street, hailed a cab, and dialed Elsa as soon as she hit the seat. She stole a couple more peeks at the ring while the phone rang.

A click on the other side. “Emma? I was just going to call you. Is everything okay?”

“We …” Emma sighed, staring again at the ring, “are going to have _so much chocolate_ tonight.”


	4. Chapter 4

Emma emerged from the ladies’ locker room at Ogre Mountain, staring up at the massive tower of brightly-colored grips that stretched up four stories towards a massive timer board on the ceiling. There were five timers available at any given time, and over all of them loomed the scrolling white numbers that depicted the top ten overall completion times. Emma watched the number one record time scroll past and let a smirk tug on the corner of her lips. This would be a good way to blow off some steam.

She gave the attendant a little wave, then began fastening her harness. The Beanstalk stretched high above her. She had already started planning out her climb for today–not a speed run, just something to get her blood pumping and her mind off of Walsh and work and that velvet box in her locker. She couldn’t rely on Elsa to distract her for another few hours, and she couldn’t face the emails about other possible stings Isaac had left in her inbox during her conversation with Walsh. She needed something just for her. Something free of all of the insanity of the past twenty-four hours. Something–

“Well. Fancy seeing you here, Swan.”

Emma whirled around at the newly-familiar voice, and instantly wished she hadn’t.

Killian Jones was standing behind her. In a neon orange t-shirt that unfairly accentuated every perfectly-defined muscle in his arms. He was already fitted with his harness–something that Emma kept her eyes decidedly away from–and that idiotic grin was already across his face. Emma cursed to herself. Of course he’d be here now. Of course.

“Killian,” Emma forced a smile. “I almost forgot you mentioned you had been visiting this place.”

“I can see why you would,” he shot back. “That conversation was … what was it? A whole four hours ago?”

“Yeah, well, it’s been a hell of a day.” Emma returned to fastening her harness, trying not to notice the rather appreciative gaze of Mr. Jones. “Easy to forget.”

“Perhaps you could further enlighten me on our climb?” Killian fastened the carabiner onto his harness–hooked into the spot right beside her. Emma managed to keep herself from groaning out loud, but only just.

“And what,” Emma spat as she attached her own harness, “makes you think I want to talk to you?”

“Well, you’re clearly upset about something, and I often find that a listening ear is just what I need to vent my troubles.”

“I’m not exactly the kind of girl who spills her guts to strangers.”

“You wound me, Swan,” Killian laughed. “So cruel to your own fiance.”

“Okay, look. Could you drop it while we’re here?” Emma had been just about to start her climb, but she turned to face Killian with a fire in her eyes. “I know you think this whole job is hilarious and you’re just having fun and all, but this is messing with my real life. So I’d appreciate it if you’d keep the engagement crap on the clock.”

Killian raised his arms in surrender, cocky grin fading. In its place was a soft smile–almost sympathetic. Somehow, that was worse. “My apologies, love. I was only trying to lighten the mood. But I now gather that you’d prefer to climb in companionable silence.”

“Won’t be so companionable,” Emma grunted, hoisting herself up by her first handholds. “I have every intention of leaving you in the dust.”

“Oh?” Killian was fast after her, pulling himself up on the wall beside her. “Care to put anything of value behind such an assertion?”

Emma looked over at Killian, noting the spark in his eyes, and couldn’t help but laugh. “Seriously? You want to race–and make a bet on it, of all things? We both know how that’s going to go–or are you the one forgetting our conversation at lunch now? I hold the record here.”

“What can I say,” he replied, gaze unwavering. “I love a challenge.”

This time, Emma held Killian’s gaze, matching his confidence with her own. She leaned toward him. “Fine. How much do you want to bet?”

“Oh, nothing so mundane as money,” Killian laughed. “That would hardly be worthwhile. No, I think something else entirely. Should I make it to the top first, you have to talk with me. Twenty minutes. Over whatever drink suits you best, which I will purchase. Nothing too probing, just basic friendly conversation.”

Emma blinked. “ … are you asking me out on a date?”

“I believe I’m wagering for a date,” Killian corrected her. “And hardly a date, as you informed me that you’re currently attached elsewhere–though from the subtext of our prior conversation I gather that things have hit a rough patch …” Killian lifted one hand in resignation when Emma’s mouth opened to protest. “But that’s none of my business. This is simply a chance for coworkers to become better acquainted. And anyway, you’re in no danger unless you lose.”

Emma considered it, then nodded. “Deal. If I win, you pay for the dessert I’m bringing home for my roommate tonight. I was just going to get us some brownies from the bakery down the road, but I’m sure I can find something nice and fancy for us if you’re fronting the bill,” Emma grinned wickedly.

Killian nodded. “Agreed. First to hit the button? When do we start?”

“NOW!” Emma pushed against his shoulder, knocking him slightly off-balance and swinging herself into a better position as she began scaling the wall at a breakneck pace. Killian let out a groan of protest, but was almost instantly gaining on her. Emma could scarcely hear him except for the creaking and swishing of his belay line in the feeder. She had underestimated him–a former military man, of course he’d have some athletic ability–but she wasn’t about to be outdone. She sped her pace, ignoring the protest in her biceps as she hauled herself upward.

About halfway up the wall, the steady sound of hands hitting rubber grips got slightly louder, and Emma risked a sideways glance to see that she and Killian were neck-and-neck. He winked. “Having an off day, Swan?” He called out, pulling himself ever higher and turning towards the outward lean in the Beanstalk’s surface. Now he was just showing off. Emma growled, then yanked herself in the same direction. In doing so, she found herself losing grip without an easily accessible handhold in sight. She saw one just at the farthest edge of her reach, and had to almost jump to curl her fingers around it. The handhold gripped painfully at her palm, but she forced that to the back of her mind and redoubled her speed. Killian was two feet ahead of her, and that was unacceptable.

She could hear Killian panting now, and had noticed his hands reaching for his chalk bag more frequently. Now was her chance. Her hand was really starting to burn, but that didn’t matter. She focused all of her attention on the stretch of colored grips before her, and pressed forward. Now it was her that was gaining. She pulled herself ever upward, muscles screaming as the Beanstalk leaned more and more diagonally. She was at his shoulder now, and he was clinging to the grips and taking a break to catch his breath. 

“Hey!” she called out. He turned and fixed his eyes on hers–weary but still fierce with the competition. He released one grip to wipe the sweat from his brow.

“Giving up, Swan?”

“Not a chance,” She panted. Then, with a burst of speed, she was ahead again.

“SWAN!” Killian called after her, but she ignored him. Within seconds, he’d be at her heels again, and the searing pain in her hand told her that she wouldn’t be able to catch up if she lost her lead again. She forced herself forward, and soon she heard him ascending after her. She could almost feel his fingers brushing her shoe, taking hold of the grips she was leaving behind as soon as her feet had left them. He was right behind her, just beside her, arms reaching forward, when…

**BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP**

Emma’s hand slammed the button down and the timer screen lit up with a cheesy fireworks animation, letting any observers know that she was, indeed, the victor. A smattering of applause sounded out from below, but Emma was too busy clinging to the top grips and gasping for breath to really notice. The first things she was aware of were the searing pain in her right hand, and the sound of Killian’s laughter at her side. She turned to examine him–he was drenched in sweat, shirt clinging to him, and he was staring at her in admiration as he laughed.

“You bested me, Swan! I can count the number of people who have done that on one hand.” He managed, taking a deep breath and readying himself to repel back down to the ground.

“I told you you were fighting a losing battle. After all, I am the record holder.” Emma panted, gripping her own belay rope in preparation for her descent. Killian raised an eyebrow, gazing up at the scoreboard.

“I don’t know, Swan. Looks to me that a bit of a challenge brings out the best in both of us.” He gestured up to the board, then started back down the beanstalk. Emma looked where he had indicated, then blinked in surprise. The scrolling top ten was blinking “NEW RECORD.” 

Both of them had come in above her previous record, she by a full five seconds.

By the time she got back down the Beanstalk, Killian had removed his harness and turned it in, coming back to receive her. He outstretched his hand. “Well done, Swan. It appears I owe you some expensive baked goods.”

She shook his hand, wincing a bit as her palm made contact with his. Killian’s brow instantly furrowed, and she drew her hand away to finally examine it. Friction burn–if she’d had time to think during the race she would’ve suspected as much–nothing too serious, just tender and angry red. “Crap,” she grumbled, and Killian reached for her hand to examine it. For some reason, Emma didn’t put up any argument.

“That’s quite the friction burn there, love,” He murmured, reaching down instantly with his other hand to produce a scrap of dark cloth from his pocket. “Cut-up old t-shirts,” he explained before she could open her mouth. “I use them to towel off a bit between climbs. Don’t worry, this one is clean.” He proceeded to gently tie the cloth around her hand. His eyes never left hers as he drew her hand up towards himself, tugging the knot tight with his teeth. Emma was too busy staring, taking in the way he kept her gaze with those piercing blue eyes, to put up any protest.

The moment lingered, her hand not leaving his for longer than Emma could bring herself to explain. They were finally jerked apart by a voice calling out from the Beanstalk entrance.

“My, my, what a gentleman!” A bright-eyed redhead approached them, beaming at Killian. Emma recognized her instantly, and without another thought, slid her injured hand around Killian’s waist. Killian glanced down at her, eyebrows nearly in his hairline, but responded in kind anyway.

“Er… yes. Well, I’m always a gentleman–” Killian began.

Emma cut him off. “Oh, isn’t he the absolute sweetest? Always looking out for me.” She rested her head on Killian’s shoulder, glancing upward to read Killian’s expression. He was still in the dark. Had he not read the file? Emma groaned inwardly, but kept close to his side. “Hey, haven’t I seen you around before?” She added, trying to catch Killian’s eye. “Don’t you work at that bakery across town–Hearts Tarts?”

“Why, yes! Yes I do! My name is Zelena.” She reached out her hand to shake, and Killian took it enthusiastically–finally sliding into his role.

“Ah–yes! The bakery. Good eye, darling,” he drew her inward for a side hug, keeping his expression trained on their mark.

“I’m sorry I don’t recognize you two as quickly as you do me–I mean, after all, we get so many couples coming in, I sometimes lose track!” Zelena giggled.

“Oh, that’s okay,” Emma nodded. “We’re actually coming in tomorrow–you’ve probably seen us on your books? Killian and Emma, for a wedding cake consultation?”

Zelena did a little clap of her hands in excitement. “Oh, really? Oh I just ADORE wedding cake consultations! I’ll just have to make sure I claim you two for myself. You are just too precious.”

“Oh stop,” Emma feigned a bashful smile, burying her face in Killian’s shoulder. Killian, for his part, drew her into a full embrace and kissed her gently on the forehead.

“Well she isn’t wrong, love. We do make quite a charming pair. But I believe we have another appointment this evening.” He gestured towards the door with a slight nod of his head.

“Oh well don’t let me keep either of you. I just heard about this place from an old friend this afternoon and thought I’d give it a visit. Do the two of you come here often?”

“It’s actually where we met,” Emma blurted out. “But. . uh… that’s another story.”

“Well I look forward to hearing all about it tomorrow!” Zelena grinned at them again, then gave a little wave goodbye. “Have a lovely evening, you two!” And then she was off, trotting towards the Beanstalk to try her own hand at the climb. As soon as Zelena’s attentions were no longer a concern, Emma hastily disentangled herself from Killian’s arms.

“So…” He began, scratching the back of his ear.

“Of all the rotten luck,” Emma mumbled. “Really? She just happened to hear about this place right before our first meetup?” She stared at Killian again, expression firm and businesslike. “We’re going to have to be careful on this one. Something doesn’t feel right.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Killian’s brow furrowed.

“I mean it’s a little too convenient that she happened to find out about a place that we both visit regularly right before we’re supposed to start our sting. Someone might be nudging her to find out about us.” Emma sighed. “We’ll have to be really vigilant about keeping our cover. Ugh. This is why I hate doing jobs in town–I much prefer traveling.”

“Yes, I can see how this would be extremely inconvenient,” Killian agreed. “Nothing for it now but to get through it, I suppose.” He scratched the back of his ear again, glancing furtively to the side. “Now, about that moment … with your hand … that was … .”

“Nothing. It was fine,” Emma replied hastily. “Are you done here, or are you going to stay a while?”

“My schedule is fairly clear.”

“Good. Get your stuff and meet me at the door in fifteen minutes. You owe me those desserts, and then I need to get home and try to put some of this ridiculous day behind me.”

Killian nodded. “As you wish.”

Emma blinked, taken aback by the choice of words. “Right. See you soon.”

She found herself jogging–almost running–to the locker room, sitting down hard on a bench as soon as she was safely inside. Her fingers traced the folds in the cotton tied around her palm. Her heart was pounding, but that was definitely just leftover adrenaline from the climb. She shook her head a few times.

The good news, at least, was that she had finally gotten a glimpse of her partner’s acting skills. He was clearly more than up for the job. The way he had responded to her, held her, even kissed her–it all felt easy and natural and familiar, like he had really been wanting to. That was definitely good. They’d be able to pass as a couple. And they’d established cover pretty quickly with Zelena, so tomorrow would be that much easier.

The bad news was that Emma’s mission to get the whole fake engagement situation off her mind had been a complete and utter failure.

She stared into her locker, grabbing her bag out, and took one last peek at the ring box before zipping everything up and heading to meet Killian at the door.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we were going to get to the first meeting at Hearts Tarts, but then this happened. Next chapter will be their first consultation with Zelena, promise!
> 
> At some point I should probably find a beta. Until then, please bear with any bumps or rough writing.
> 
> THANKS SO MUCH FOR THE COMMENTS AND SUBSCRIBES AND ALL THE LOVE THIS IS MY FIRST MULTICHAPTER AND I'M SO HAPPY YOU'RE ENJOYING IT!

To be honest, Emma wasn’t even sure how it happened.

It wasn’t as though she was _trying_ to get closer to this guy. It was the job. And he did owe her--and came through in spades, she reminded herself. He had dutifully followed her to the sweet shop of her choice. She had been able to feel his eyes on her as she paced up and down, examining the goodies in the display window, finally selecting a triple-layer chocolate cream cake that she knew Elsa would love. He’d paid without protesting as she distractedly wandered towards the bakery entrance, swiping away notifications from Walsh’s seven most recent attempts to call her. When she’d turned around to take the cake from him and give him a brusque farewell, her eyes had widened upon the discovery that his arms were loaded down with boxes--in addition to the cake, he’d bought the oatmeal creme pies she’d lingered at for a few moments, plus a box of donuts. And she wasn’t going to turn down free dessert and tomorrow’s breakfast, right?

So when he’d offered to help her carry the mountain of baked goods to her apartment, she’d reluctantly agreed. When he suggested that they drive to Hearts Tarts in the same car to avoid any further suspicion, she’d nodded in assent and offered to pick him up at Granny’s. And when Elsa had seen the two of them in the doorway of the apartment and insisted on repaying Killian for his kindness by serving him dinner, she couldn’t very well contradict the hospitality of her friend.

And that, Emma supposed, was how she had wound up sitting on the sofa next to Killian Jones, who was laughing uproariously into his rum.  
“Just like that, you say?” Killian managed to curb his giggles for long enough to get a few words out.

“Just like that,” Elsa’s voice was tinged with pride. “She reared back and punched him in the face, and he fell into the river. Broke his nose, too.” She reached for her slice of cream cake, taking another bite and closing her eyes briefly to savor it.

“Your sister sounds like quite the spirited lass,” Killian set his glass down on the end table. “And from what you’ve said, it quite sounds like he deserved it, the lout--Oh bloody hell, is that the time?” He glanced up at the clock, letting out a groan. “I’ve taken up far too much of your evening, and your hospitality. That aside, Granny will have my head if I’m in too late.”

“You should probably start looking into your own place,” Emma suggested. She stood as he did, following him as he headed for the door and donned his jacket. “Granny’s great, but I can’t imagine she’d be fantastic to live with.”

“I fear you’re correct, Swan,” Killian agreed. “Until I find a roommate, though, it’s simply out of the question. You know as well as I that our paychecks aren’t enough to support a decent apartment.”

“Fair enough.”

“You seem to have been quite fortunate in your own roommate hunt.” He turned to wave farewell to Elsa. “It was an absolute pleasure meeting you.”

“Don’t be a stranger!” Elsa grinned broadly. “We’d love to have you over again.”

Emma opened her mouth, but Killian spoke before she could. “I rather think that’s up to Emma. As much as I appreciate your kindness, I’d hate to impose on her personal life again without her consent.” He turned now to meet Emma’s eyes, cocking one eyebrow. Emma floundered for words.

“Um. . I guess. . . we’ll have to see,” she managed. “I mean, we might as well get to know each other a bit, since we’re pretending to be engaged and all.”

“I look forward to it.” She searched his face for any trace of that cocky, flirtatious smirk, but there was none. He was all sincerity. Emma’s stomach tightened, just a little.

Emma finally broke his gaze, looking down at her phone. “Ten o’clock?” she fumbled through her apps until she found her planner. “That should be early enough to meet, grab some coffee, and get across town before our appointment.”

“Yes, that should suffice,” Killian agreed. “Until then, my betrothed,” He gave her a playful wink. Emma rolled her eyes.

“Whatever. Night, Killian.” She shut the door behind him, then rested her head against the door with a soft _thunk_.

“You just _had _to invite him for dinner, didn’t you?”__

__“I did.” Elsa’s voice was smug. “He went to all that trouble, and he’s still trying to find his way in the city. We were all like that once.”_ _

__“He didn’t go to trouble, he lost a bet!”_ _

__“And overpaid--by picking out your absolute _favorite_ cookies, too. Besides, you had a good time. You should be thanking me.”_ _

__Emma returned to her spot on the couch. “I mean he’s funny, sure. But he’s a shameless flirt and he’s clearly trouble.” The matter-of-fact tone didn’t match the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. Elsa smiled sympathetically._ _

__“Well, whether you believe that or not--and I think we both know the answer to that question--the fact is that we all had a great time for a good three hours and you never once brought up your argument with Walsh.” Elsa broke into a grin when Emma’s eyes widened and her hands flew to her phone._ _

__“How did you--”_ _

__“Emma, we both knew how that conversation was going to go before you even got there.” Elsa finished her cake, then made her way across the room to the kitchen sink. “He freaked out on you because he can’t stand the thought of you spending time with another guy. He probably feels like you betrayed him, and you’re very clearly just doing this for work, so he’s blowing it way out of proportion--”_ _

__“He told me I was just playing pretend.” Emma interrupted. Elsa set her dishes in the sink a little firmer than initially planned, and turned to face her friend again._ _

__“He _what?_ ”_ _

__“He’s never really understood the job--I mean it’s weird, but it’s important, you know? My job helps people.”_ _

__“Of course it does!” Elsa gestured violently, and Emma could feel the sudden chill in the room. Elsa was the gentlest and sweetest person Emma had ever met--rivaled only by Emma’s own sister-in-law--but when friends or family were threatened or belittled, she became icy and fierce. She paced the scant kitchen floor, gesturing wildly, wisps of white-blonde hair pulling free of her tightly-woven braid. “You’re exposing workplace fraud! You’ve been part of uncovering criminal activity! So _what_ if it’s for television--what you do has helped so many people!” She glared over at Emma._ _

__“What did you say to him?”_ _

__“Pretty much that. Then I left--told him I’d call him when I’m done being engaged--fake engaged--to Killian. I figured it’d give him some time to cool down.” Emma brandished her phone, which now had four new missed call notifications. “He’s taking that _so_ well.”_ _

__Elsa snorted. “You were more charitable than I would have been, that’s for sure.”_ _

__“He’s a nice guy--” Emma began_ _

__“He’s an ape, Emma,” Elsa hissed. “An absolute caveman. The only reason he’s not dragging you around by your hair is because you’re braver and stronger than he knows what to do with. So he talks you down and makes light of your job.” Elsa’s fists were clenched tight, her thin frame seeming to tower over the whole room. Finally, she took a deep breath, relaxed her hands, and busied herself with preparing a cup of tea. “But you already know how I feel about Walsh.”_ _

__Emma smiled. “You’re too protective, Elsa--I’m a big girl, I can take care of myself.” She rose to join her friend in the kitchen, rooting through the cupboard for her tub of Swiss Miss. She rolled her eyes as she felt her phone buzz yet again. “Though he’s gonna get a lot more than the silent treatment soon if he won’t take a hint--oh.” Emma blinked in surprise at the screen. For once, it was a different alert--a text message._ _

__**Thank Elsa again for the wonderful dinner. Thank you, Swan, for your hospitality after a difficult day. Don’t forget to change your background photo for tomorrow--KJ** _ _

__Elsa peeked at Emma’s phone over her cup of tea. “What a gentleman,” she murmured with a knowing glance, taking a careful sip and sauntering off to her evening Skype date with her sister._ _

__“It’s just a work reminder and a polite thank you,” Emma protested down the hallway, but then she remembered him stammering out something like “ _I’m always a gentleman_ ” and the faintest of smiles tugged at her mouth. She scrolled through her photos until she found the one they had taken together just this afternoon, which somehow felt like ages ago. His arm was around her. A giant, relaxed smile played across his face. She, too, was grinning, and her eyes were sparkling. Like she was really having a great time._ _

__Emma set the background, ignoring the light fluttering in her chest. They were good at what they were doing. They’d work well together. And at the end of the day, unexpected evening aside, they were still doing this for work._ _


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY EVERYONE I'M BACK!
> 
> So sorry this took so long! I am happy to report that I've finished my master's degree, so that will no longer get in the way of my writing. Only regular everyday work and life and responsibilities will ^^;;
> 
> I also wanted to thank everybody who has contacted me, here or on tumblr, about being a beta. I will be looking into options for a beta for the next chapter, but I wanted to get this one out to you since it's been such a long wait. So sorry if this one is a bit rough around the edges! Hope you enjoy!

She found herself staring at the photo again in the car, parked on the curb, waiting for Killian to emerge from the Diner.  He had been waiting at the corner when she arrived at ten on the dot, and signaled her with a wave and a raised index finger before dashing back into Granny’s.  When he gently tapped the window with a coffee cup a few minutes later, Emma gave a start and nearly dropped her phone.  She rolled her eyes at the sound of his snickering, reached over, and pulled the door handle.

“Did I interrupt something, Swan?” He was grinning, again, and Emma just _did not need this today._

“Just getting into character,” she explained, tapping the dark, thick-rimmed glasses she was wearing.  “Focusing on my future as a blushing bride.”

“Ah--well, caffeine ought to help with that,” He offered as he settled into his seat, handing her a cup.  She took a sip and raised her eyebrows--a cinnamon mocha.  Her favorite.

“How did you--”

“Granny did me the kindness of fixing your usual,” Killian explained.  “She says, and I quote, ‘happy hunting.’”  He smiled softly, taking a sip of his own drink.  “Quite a woman.”

“She’s something, alright,” Emma agreed.  “We should get going--wouldn’t want to be late for free cake and fake engagement.”

“Agreed--just one more detail to take care of.”  Killian reached down between the two of them to where the velvet box was resting beside the gear shift.  He opened it, examining the ring, then searching Emma’s face for a reaction.  “May I complete our little charade?”

Emma met his gaze, pausing longer than she should have.  It was just a ring.  For work.  She was just going to wear it for work.  “Why not.”  

She outstretched her left hand, which Killian took gently in his right.  “Of course you’ve probably had the chance to look at this already--I suppose it probably doesn’t suit you,” He lifted the mock-sailor’s-knot band, sliding it carefully onto her finger.  Isaac had, of course, given the perfect size--it fit exquisitely.  Emma stared down at the glittering beauty now wrapped around her finger.  For just a second, it all felt beautifully, perfectly, terrifyingly real--the bride-to-be of a former navy lieutenant, with eyes bluer than the sea itself and a laugh that seemed to tangle her insides--a future.

A taxi honked at the corner and broke the spell.  Both of them pulled their hands away, Killian scratching that familiar spot behind his ear again.  Emma smiled despite herself.

“You’re right,” she said softly, starting the car.  “Not really me at all.”

* * *

 

They traveled to Hearts Tarts in relative silence, sharing a few basic reminders and tips about the sting.  “Be careful.  Zelena may not be on to us yet, but I can’t shake the feeling that somebody wants her to be.  We’ve got to play this as convincing as possible.”

“Of course,” Killian agreed.  “Is that it, there?”  He gestured to the bright red awning on the corner, covered with prints of hearts and apples and steaming pies.

“Hearts Tarts bakery.  Here we go.”  Emma nodded resolutely.  “We’re in character as soon as we step out of this car, and we don’t break until we’re down the street.  Clear?”

“Crystal, love.”

“Perfect.”  Emma let out a short sigh.  “Let’s do this.”  She reached for her door, but Killian grabbed her wrist.  She turned to face him, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re my fiance, Swan,” Killian smiled.  “I’m going to do this right.”  And with that, he stepped out of the car, crossed to her door, and opened it for her, reaching out his hand to take hers as she rose from her seat.  The grin that brought to her face was _very_ convincing.

“Nice touch,” she whispered, nose brushing his ear.  He slid his hand around her waist, shushing her with a raised eyebrow.  Thusly entangled, arms around one another, her fingers tucked into his back pocket, his curled around her belt loop, they made their way into the bakery.

 

They didn’t even get a chance to announce themselves before Zelena intercepted them at the door.  “Oh, THERE you are!  Look, Regina, this is the couple I was telling you about.  Aren’t they just the prettiest little bride and groom you’ve ever seen?”  She rested her hands on their shoulders, glancing backwards at the bakery owner, Regina.  For her part, Regina regarded them with a mixture of amusement and vague irritation.  That was pretty common, though--Emma knew Regina had seen her photo, and would be trying to avoid looking like she recognized them.

“Adorable.”  Regina was either very stressed with the current state of her bakery, or _not_ a fan of young love.  “I have some payroll to deal with, do you think you can handle them, Zelena?”

“Oh, don’t you fret your pretty little head about it,” Zelena flashed a winning smile.  “I’m sure we’ll get on famously.  Come on then, let’s start figuring out the wedding cake of your dreams!!”  Grabbing their free hands, she all but yanked them into the back room, where a large binder was waiting on a desk.

Crossing to take a seat on the opposite side of the desk, Zelena regarded them with an enormous grin.  “I’m sorry if I seem overenthusiastic--I just _adore_ weddings and perfect couples.  So!  Tell me a little bit about yourselves.  I want to build you a cake that is just as lovely as you both are.”

Killian was the first to recover from the effusive greeting.  He drew his arm up around Emma’s shoulders, giving her a gentle squeeze.  “Well, it’s hard to know quite where to start…”

“Oh, come on, Killian,”  Emma gave him a nudge, holding his gaze for a few seconds before returning her attentions, almost as a second thought, to Zelena.  “You act like we haven’t told the story a hundred times already.  We met at Ogre Mountain, like we mentioned yesterday.  Total random happenstance, happened to be climbing next to each other.  Not exactly a meet-cute, but it worked for us!”

“She bested me,” he offered fondly, gazing down at her.  “I can count on one hand the people who’ve done that.”

There was something of a pause as Emma met his gaze searchingly. “Anyway . . . he offered to buy me dinner afterwards, and the rest is history,” They finally broke eye contact to read Zelena’s reaction to their tale.  For her part, Zelena was listening in rapt attention, chin rested on hands.

“Oh, what a precious story!”  She clapped her hands.  “And the ring?  I don’t think I got to see it yesterday. . .”

  
“Oh--yeah,”  Emma offered her hand, and Zelena let out a little gasp when she saw the sparkling ornament.  “I’m still so protective over it, you know? I don’t like wearing it while I climb.”

“Where did he propose?” was her only reply, still staring at the ring.

“On the water,”  Emma replied, a hint of wonder in her voice.  “On his ship.  He’s ex-navy, you know, and one of our favorite dates was the first time he fixed me dinner out at the docks.”

“Mine too,”  Killian added.  “I think. . . that was probably when I knew she was the one.”  His eyes never left Emma as he spoke.  Emma would have been distracted by his _extremely_ convincing acting skills, but she was too busy being suddenly yanked across the desk.

Zelena grasped her hand, drawing it nearer to her face to examine the ring more closely.  Emma, bent halfway over the desk now, cast a glance back at Killian.  He raised an eyebrow and shrugged one shoulder.  She seemed to be buying it.  Sure enough, as soon as Zelena let Emma return to her place in her chair, the baker was starry-eyed and grinning.

“You two are just too perfect.”  She gazed at each of them fondly.  “A real fairy tale romance, if you ask me.  And I know just the kind of cake for such a couple!”

“You do?”  they asked in unison.

“Oh yes.  Something very elegant--white and tiers, and maybe some lacework in royal icing.  Yes.  That’ll be just perfect.  Pretty as a princess, just like you, my dear,”  She winked at Emma.   _Okay.  Time to work._

“Actually,” Emma began, scooting closer to Killian, “We had something pretty specific in mind ourselves.”

Zelena’s smile faltered a bit.  “Ah, you did?”

“Yes.  It’s. . . it’s to do with that date we mentioned.  The first one on the boat,”  Killian continued.  “I made her this hideous chocolate cake.  Raw on the inside, singed on the outside.  I’m a fair cook, but not much of a baker.”

“He tried to convince me it was a lava cake,” Emma grinned, squeezing Killian’s knee gently.  “I didn’t want to hurt his fragile ego, so I ate the whole thing.”

“My ego is _not_ fragile,” Killian countered, a hint of a pout on his lips.

“Case in point,” Emma nudged him with a wink.  “Anyway, we’ve laughed about it ever since, and we’d like to have a chocolate cake with chocolate icing for the wedding.  Do you think you could do that?”

Zelena wasn’t smiling anymore--or, rather, she was, but it was frozen on her face in such a way that lost all of the reckless mirth of the moments before, and was more condescending and forced.  “Chocolate icing.  As in. . . brown.  For your wedding.”

“That’s right,” Killian nodded. “It’s quite important to us.”

“I’m just--I’d just like you to understand how that’s going to go. . . visually. . . on your beautiful day,” Zelena opened the binder in front of her, a flurry of white, floral cakes suddenly flashed before them.  “I think something like this might be nice, and of course you can have any flavor of cake _underneath_ the white icing. . .”

“Perhaps we weren’t as abundantly clear as I’d hoped,” Killian’s voice took on a steely edge.  “We’d rather have chocolate icing.”

Emma nodded.  “I mean, it is our cake after all--what’s the harm?”

Zelena stared at both of them for a moment, and Emma almost thought she was going to leap over the desk screeching.  But instead, she forced an even bigger grin than before.

“Right!  What’s the harm indeed.  Well, I’m sure I’ll be able to salvage it.”

“What do you mean--”

“So!”  Zelena clapped her hands again.  “Shall we move on to the tasting?  We have three different kinds of chocolate cake for you to sample, with varying sweetness levels, and you still need to pick fillings. . .”

* * *

An hour of awkward, overenthusiastic conversation later, Emma and Killian strolled out of Hearts Tarts with their fingers interlaced.  Emma held a small box with a “tasting tier” of cake--which had been made, notably, with white icing.  Zelena had grudgingly offered them a taste of the chocolate icing on a little spoon, but had insisted they try the full tier with white icing.  “You just never know--you might find that you love it!” she offered brightly, effusing about how _lovely_ the cake would look if it were white, how it would be the perfect fairy tale cake to match a perfect fairy tale love story.  Killian had played his part to perfection, reassuring Zelena at every possible juncture that his beautiful bride would have her perfect wedding cake exactly as she wanted it.

“So what now?”  Killian murmured, opening Emma’s door so she could take her seat in the car.    
  
“Ssssshhh,” she raised an eyebrow.  “Down the street first, remember?”

He nodded, crossing to take his own seat.  Emma started the engine, then gave a start and reached to grasp Killian’s hand.  Before he could open his mouth with a question, he heard the sound of knuckles rapping against his window.  He rolled it down, greeting an overenthusiastic Zelena with as genuine a smile as he could muster.  “Did we forget something?”

“Oh, I’m so silly,” Zelena’s mile-wide grin had returned.  “I forgot to write down the details of your appointment to view the cake!  Regina’s mother would have had my head for overlooking something like that, and her daughter isn’t very forgiving either.  Now, you said it’s going to be a month from this Thursday?  What time?”

After they worked out the details, Zelena tucked a folded-up order summary into Killian’s hand, blew them both kisses, and waved as they drove down the road.  Killian let out an exasperated sigh as soon as they turned the corner, out of sight.  “What in blazes was that?”  He burst out, glancing over his shoulder as though he expected her to come chasing after them on a broomstick. “I’ve met bags of cats who are bloody visions of sanity by comparison!”

“I’m telling you, someone has tipped her off,” Emma growled.  “I don’t know how it happened.  She obviously doesn’t have proof and she hasn’t asked explicitly about Mystery Diners, so I’m thinking she doesn’t know exactly what’s going on--but someone has DEFINITELY put her on guard.  Someone who knows what we’re doing.  Which is almost no one.”

“That’s hardly comforting for my first voyage, so to speak,” Killian’s expression was grim.

“You handled it fine,” Emma assured him.  “You played it very fluid.  Very. . . convincing,” She added.  Emma was glad that her eyes had to stay fixed on the road, because she could feel his gaze locked on her.  She hoped the tips of her ears weren’t as burning red as they felt.

“I’ll warn Isaac about the possibility of a tip-off when I send him the hidden camera footage,”  The jolt in the conversation was palpable, but Killian didn’t protest.  “In the meantime, stay sharp.  You never know when you’ll have to slip back into character.  We might both want to stay away from Ogre Mountain for a few weeks.  And keep any details about the sting to _trusted people only._  Family is probably fine, Granny’s good too, but keep your mouth shut otherwise.  Got it?”

“Elsa?”

Emma couldn’t help but laugh. “Elsa’s been my best friend for years.  She’s practically the queen of Arendelle and Associates, with some big corporate title I can never remember.  The last thing on her mind is messing with my job--and besides, she thinks it’s fun to watch the show.”  She glanced over at him, suddenly suspicious.  “Why. . . are you thinking of seeing her again?”  The idea sat wrong with her--it would be weird.  Because of work.

Killian cast Emma a sideways grin.  “Well, I have every intention of seeing her roommate again, so I can’t help but imagine that we might exchange a few words.  Why?”  He waggled an eyebrow.  “Is the thought too much for you to bear?”

Emma rolled her eyes.  “Please.  Elsa would have you for lunch.”

“Perhaps I’d like to be on someone else’s menu.”  

Was it possible to actually _feel_ his eyebrow raise?  Was that possible?  Because her eyes were locked on the road, but Emma knew _exactly_ the sinful expression he was making.  “So much for ‘always a gentleman,’” her voice was more derisive than it had to be.

“My apologies, love.  I keep forgetting that brand of humor tends to come up a bit short with you.”

“Maybe it wouldn’t, if I thought you were joking around instead of testing the waters.”

“And if I am?”  The car was at a halt now, and their eyes could meet.  “I wasn’t the only one whose performance was . . . convincing.”

“I’m good at my job,”  Emma replied brusquely.  “And I have a . . . well. . . I have someone.”

“Far be it from me to interfere,” Killian held up his hand in acquiescence.  “I must have misunderstood.”

“Misunderstood what?” Emma snapped.  
  
“Only this,”  Killian slid his hand out from beneath hers.  She had kept hers resting there, without thinking, for the entire car ride.  Emma’s mouth opened, but nothing came out in response.

“At any rate, I’d better be going.  A new roommate isn’t going to find himself.  Text me if you hear more from Zelena, or need anything else.  Professionally, of course.”  He got up stiffly, surveying Emma’s still-stunned expression with an unreadable one of his own.

“Have a good week, Swan.”  He shut the door of the bug and was through the entryway of Granny’s before Emma could process everything that had just happened.

When she finally recovered, Emma punched the empty seat beside her, letting out a stream of curses and staring down at her hands.  Her cheeks and ears burned.  It took a lot to make Emma Swan feel like an idiot, but absentmindedly holding hands with her coworker for a twenty-minute drive did the trick impressively well.  “Crap,” She muttered.

She reached for the ring, to work it off her finger and be done with an exhausting morning, but for just a second her fingers hovered over the glittering gem.  For that brief second, she felt the same twinge she had when Killian had first gotten into her car, just a couple hours ago.  It was just too. . . real.  She yanked the ring off and stuffed it back in the box, dropping it back in her purse for safekeeping.  She’d have to keep it close, just in case.  She wouldn’t have to look at it the rest of the day.

In a couple hours Elsa would be home and she’d have somewhere to unload this ridiculous mess.  Soon she needed to send the footage to Isaac, check into any other projects he might have in the works, and make plans with the cameramen for the date they had arranged with Zelena.  But right now, all Emma could do was lean back in the driver’s seat and try to erase the twisting feeling in her stomach that had arisen when she realized how comfortable she was holding hands with Killian Jones.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANOTHER CHAPTER FINALLY. This one was a LOT of fun to write, and I'm excited about where it's going to take us.
> 
> ALSO--I now have a beta! Thanks to everyone who offered their services for consideration, I was blown away by the responses I got! My wonderful beta is sarahjdc and I can't express enough how much she has helped this chapter flow smoothly! Looking forward to working with her in the chapters to come as well :D :D
> 
> enjoy!

It only took a few minutes for Emma to edit the glasses-cam footage from the Hearts Tarts sting.  She removed the rather embarrassing pre- and post-sting conversations viewing those bits as little as possible.  She was too emotional right now watching his face in those shots, imagining deep sincerity hidden in Killian’s gazes and lingering moments that _clearly_ weren’t a part of what had actually occurred.  They couldn’t be.  It was just her embarrassment warping her perception.  And everything else, of course, was just acting.  That’s it.

And that was the last she thought about it.  It was work.  That’s all.  And it was purely her drive for the job that prompted the words rushing out of her mouth as she dropped the footage unceremoniously on Isaac’s desk:

“ _Please_ tell me you have something else for me to do besides this bakery job.  Maybe something where I’m _not_ engaged to a guy I met days ago?”

Isaac regarded Emma with a bemused grin.  “Did it not go well, then?  Your cake-tasting?”

“It went fine,” Emma bristled, taking a seat across from her employer.  “He’s got the talent, he’ll do well here I think.”

“I should hope so,” Isaac said.  “I have a number of stings coming up that will require someone like him.  But if things went so well, why are you so eager to get your mind off of Hearts Tarts?”

“I just--it’s weird, that’s all.  It’s weird to be faking an engagement with a stranger.”  Emma shrugged off the unnerving half-smile and piercing gaze Isaac leveled at her.

“I can imagine.”  He turned to a stack of files on his desk.  “Well, I do have one short job that’ll be all hands on deck next week.  Big flashy bar in town--White Rabbit, if you aren’t into that sort of scene.  Jefferson, the owner, thinks his manager might be discriminating against some qualified waitresses and barkeeps because they’re less. . . aesthetically appealing.”

Emma sighed.  “Let me guess--I need to play ditzy hair-twirler.”

“You do it so well,” Isaac flashed a grin.  “Blue pulls off boring and uptight pretty well, so she’ll be your foil.  I’ll probably send Killian in as a customer to gauge his abilities myself.  The other assignment. . . well, let’s just say I hope Mr. Jones is less of a stranger to you in two months’ time.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Look, Emma, it’s out of my hands.  You already have the ring, and these opportunities happened to come so close together . . .”

“Cut the crap, Isaac, and tell me what you’re talking about.”

“There’s a big event and catering venue in Baton Rouge.  The venue’s been experiencing some lost revenue and missing decoration items since they hired this new event planner, so the owners want to check her out.  The best way to keep her unawares is to book something very big, and very convincing.”

A sinking feeling settled in the pit of Emma’s stomach.  “A reception.”  Her voice was barely audible.  “You’re planning a wedding reception.”

“You always have caught on fast.”

“I cannot believe this.  Really, Isaac?”

“It just makes the most sense!”  Isaac waved his hand to punctuate his point.  “You two will already be practiced from the Hearts Tarts job by the time it rolls around.  I’m sorry, but I’ve already scheduled a phone consultation with the venue for you both in three weeks.  You can kill me when you’re done with your all-expenses-paid trip to Louisiana and your _week of vacation_ afterwards.”

Emma sighed.  He was bribing her.  That meant it was a big job, with big money attached.  And the wedding sting would be great for their viewership, too.

“Two weeks,” She countered.

“Ten days.”

“Fine.”  She reached for the file on the White Rabbit.  “But at least let me pick my own dress.”

“My savior as always, Emma Swan.”

“Can it, Isaac.  I’ll see you at the White Rabbit.”  And with that, she had a whole new set of things to not think about on her way back to the apartment.  She drove home in a near-rage, slamming the door behind her, and nearly colliding with Elsa and her cup of chamomile tea.  They took one look at one another and groaned in unison:

“You would not _believe_ the day I’ve had today.”

* * *

 

“I’m sure it’s not all _that_ bad,” Elsa offered.  It was a weak attempt at comfort and they both knew it.

“I pretty much gave him the MOTHER of all mixed signals,” Emma groaned, swirling the last few sips of hot chocolate around in her mug.  “I held his freaking hand for nearly twenty minutes without so much as a second thought.  No wonder he was back to crude jokes and crazy flirting.  And I can’t even avoid him until the awkward blows over--Isaac is going to use him in the White Rabbit sting, and now we’re going to be starring in a _wedding_ ruse, of all things. . .”  She trailed off, downing the rest of her mug of cocoa like it were a flask of rum.  “How am I supposed to keep it professional with all of this hanging over us?”

Elsa placed a hand on Emma’s arm.  Her smile was gentle.  “Maybe by admitting that your relationship is going to be more than professional?”

Emma narrowed her eyes.  “We’ve been over this.  Walsh and I--”

“I’m not suggesting you drop Walsh for good,” Elsa interrupted.  “You know how I feel about him, but it’s none of my business.  What is my business is your friends, since they tend to become my friends, too.  And you get along with Killian.  We had a great time the other night--all three of us.  Maybe you can move past the awkward flirting by just acknowledging that there’s a connection there, and getting to know him as a person instead of just your awkward part-time fiance.”  Elsa punctuated the whole conversation with a sip of her tea.  She exuded that ridiculous, almost regal confidence that only came when she knew she was absolutely right--which, Emma mused, was an annoyingly large majority of the time.

She sighed.  “Fine.  I’ll try friends.  Since I can’t get away from the guy anyway.  But enough about me and my idiotic work life--you said _you_ had a bad day, and that happens so rarely that it’s always worth a good story.”

“Ugh.”  Elsa rolled her eyes.  “It was _so_ stupid.  You’re lucky you didn’t wind up at Granny’s for lunch today.”

“Really?  Granny runs a tight ship--usually she kicks the riff-raff out before they can cause any trouble.”

“Oh, it wasn’t a loudmouthed customer or anything.  It’s this _idiot_ she’s training for her night crew.  I’m guessing the pickings were slim.”  Elsa paused a moment, sipping her tea again, and Emma could almost see the veins in her temples throb.  “I took an investor there because the food is good and the setting is relaxed--he was a bit nervous about increasing his holdings, what with the state of the economy, and I wanted to put him in a more relaxed mindset like he wouldn’t be at one of the fancier places downtown.”

“And the idiot?” Emma asked with a half-smile.

“Spilled tomato soup all over his $1,700 Canali jacket,” Elsa groaned.  “To say nothing of his comb-over.  Fortunately for me, he was already fifteen minutes late with the order, so no burns to speak of.  But Mr. Weselton elected to lunch elsewhere.”  She set down her mug and put her head in her hands.  “He literally said it was ‘an outrage.’  He’s like that.  This clumsy oaf of a waiter completely blew my investment proposal.  And then--and then!--he had the absolute _nerve_ to sass me for not leaving him a tip!”

“You’re kidding!”

“Well, not TO me.  Not exactly.  But I heard him!”

“Elsa. . .”  Emma knew how her friend got when angry.  

“ ‘Bloody injustice it is, stiffin’ a man out of his tips,’ he said.  ‘Weaselly little stuff-shirt had it comin, askin’ for spoons without water spots,’ he said.  ‘Did the little blonde wisp a favor, if’n ya ask me.’  Can you believe the _nerve_??  I marched right back to the waitstaff area and gave him a piece of my mind.”

“Oh no you did not.”  Emma gasped.

“I did.  I told him he was a thief if he expected any kind of compensation for ruining my meal and my business meeting.  I told him he ought to be ashamed of himself for badmouthing the customers before they even left the building.  And I told him I’d make sure Granny knew _exactly_ what I thought of his service.” Elsa huffed.  “You’d think that would have put him in his place, but apparently he’s too dense to have any sense of shame.”

“Oh no.”

“He gave me this look--I mean, Emma, is it possible for sarcasm to just, like, _emanate_ from a human being?  Is it possible for a human being to be the living embodiment of sarcasm?  He just looks at me and goes, ‘Well ‘scuse me, _your Majesty_ , for wantin’ to be able to pay me rent.’” And he just walks back into the kitchen.  I think I caught him staring at me as I left, too.  The _nerve!_ ”

Emma sighed.  “He was probably embarrassed, Elsa.”

“He could’ve apologized,” she sniffed in reply

“Well you did say he was an idiot.”  They both laughed at that, for just a few minutes, and then lapsed into silence, staring at their mugs.  Emma set hers down and clapped her hands.  “Well! I think tonight calls for pizza.  Ordered in from that really pricey deep-dish place across town, and maybe some margaritas so we forget all about guys and work and stupidity.  You in?”

“I’ll call in the pizza,” Elsa agreed.  They’d salvage the evening if it was the death of them.

 

* * *

 

Half a supreme deep dish with extra cheese later, Emma returned to the living room with another round of drinks.  “Ooh--Emma!  You’re on!” Elsa gestured towards the TV, as the crimson _Mystery Diners_ logo flashed across the screen.

Emma groaned, but Elsa put on her best pout.  “Oh come on--it’s the one at that bar with the VIP room!  With the duffel bag!  You told me all about it, I want to _see_!”

Emma groaned again, but nodded her consent and Elsa eagerly turned up the volume.  It started as usual--Isaac meeting with the restaurant owner and hearing about the issues that the sting would investigate.  In this particular episode, the bar owner had been suspicious of some basic losses in revenue and food sales.  What they had found--thanks to surveillance by part-time private detective August Booth--was somebody sneaking into the VIP room after hours and using it as his own apartment.  Emma’s eyebrows raised in interest--she had never actually seen the footage August had uncovered.  Isaac dramatically gestured to one of the monitors in his surveillance room, revealing the video as this ghoul of a man snuck in with a stolen key, pulled down the hide-a-bed, and proceeded to don pajamas and surf the internet from the comfort of his illicit getaway.

“Creep,” Emma muttered.

“No kidding,” Elsa agreed, grabbing for another slice of pizza.  “Ooooh--there you are!”

Sure enough, there was Emma--hair pulled back into a ponytail and wearing her thick-rimmed hidden camera glasses, adorned in the bar's company apron.  She stared into a camera just outside the back alley of the restaurant.  "Isaac is trying to figure out if the bartender or the manager here at Neverland Pub is stealing from the owner, so I've been undercover as a waitress-in-training.  So far, nobody suspects anything."  Then the show cut to her walking around the Neverland Pub, serving appetizers to customers.  Isaac spoke into a microphone, connected to Emma's hidden earpiece.  "Emma, there is a duffel bag in the VIP room, behind the cushions on the left side.  I need you to sneak back there and investigate its contents."  On-screen Emma replied in the affirmative and headed back to the VIP room.

Emma watched herself open the bag, scrolling idly through her phone as she did so.  It's not like the contents were a surprise to her.  Basic overnight gear, an iPad, no ID or anything else.  She heard Elsa let out a little gasp as the show cut to commercial, leaving the viewer wondering if the manager would walk in on Emma and catch her red-handed.

"Oh please," Emma laughed.  "Obviously you know I made it okay--I still have my job."

"Ssssshhhhh, you'll ruin the suspense!" Elsa tossed a scrap of crust at her friend, who replied with a swat and a half-hearted shout of protest.  Then she looked back at her phone and let out a sigh.

"Walsh wants to apologize," she informed Elsa, who made a face and decided to check her own phone during the commercial.  "Says he knows I'm just doing my job and wants to show his support."

"I mean, it's up to you," Elsa shrugged.  "OH!  Hey, you were serious about trying to be friends with Killian, right?"

Emma's eyes narrowed.  "Yeah, I guess. . . "

"Good!"  Elsa's face was triumphant.  "Because I just volunteered us to help him move into his new apartment Saturday."

" _Elsa. . ._ ."

"Oh come on.  This way you can clear the air before that White Rabbit thing."  She had that air of confidence again.

Emma eyed Elsa suspiciously, prolonging the inevitable.  "How are you even _talking_ with him right now?"

"Facebook.  Found him last night.  He just posted and said Granny set him up with a new roommate.  Now admit it, it would be a good idea to help him.  We _are_ two of the only people he knows in town."

Emma paused for a long time before finally rolling her eyes and giving in.  "You're right."

"I know!"  Elsa grinned, returning her attention to the TV.  On-screen Emma twirled her hair and giggled, duffel bag safely stowed away, assuring the manager she was in the VIP room because she had "lost an earring."  He shooed her away and the sting continued.

Emma looked back at the message on her phone.  Maybe talking to Walsh would get her head straight.  Maybe it would just make things worse.  She swiped a few words into her phone.

> **I'll think about it.**

Then she tossed her phone into the armchair across the living room and started on her margarita.  It was time to forgetting about the complicated relationship mess that her life was becoming and watch herself catch some idiot squatter. The manager had let him in, and he was also offering free food to fake VIPs so he could pocket autograph money from the customers.  She smiled as the pub owner strong-armed a dumbfounded manager into the camera room, revealing that his theft and his treating the VIP room like a hotel space for his buddies had been recorded for national television.

 

She grinned.  This was pretty good viewing.  And it had saved the bar hundreds of dollars a month in lost revenue.  The look on the manager's face when the owner fired him was priceless.

 

"Good sting," Elsa managed between mouthfuls of pizza.

  
Emma nodded.  Screw the idiocy.  Her job was pretty great.      


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DIDN'T DIE I PROMISE I'M STILL HERE! Thank you to everyone for your patience as I have slogged through writing this chapter amidst a number of family emergencies and other hangups.
> 
> Credit to my wonderful beta sarahjdc for her tireless effort to make me make sense! :D ENJOY

Of course, one night of forgetting about the troubles of life did not mean that the troubles of life forgot about Emma.  The rest of the week was a whirlwind of preparation for her upcoming jobs--tweaking her sting resume to bring to the White Rabbit, especially.  Working through the details was a constant reminder that she would be forced to deal with the situation with Killian soon.  An even more stressful reminder was her sudden work-related need to start browsing for--Emma could still hardly believe it--wedding dresses.  She scrolled through endless pages of designs on David’s Bridal, trying to find something she wouldn’t hate wearing.  She also kept her sights on the priciest offerings--if she was going to have to do this, it was going to hit Isaac right in the checkbook.

Life didn’t forget about Elsa, either.  The very next day, she came home with dread written all over her face, brandishing the itemized receipt for every single piece of clothing that Mr. Weselton considered ruined by the incident at Granny’s. 

“He wants me to replace his _shoes_ , too.” she groaned.  "They're 750 dollars.  Who pays that much for  _shoes??_ "  She slammed the receipt down on the kitchen counter far harder than necessary.

“I thought the soup only hit his jacket. . . and wouldn’t it wash off of shoes?”

“You’d think,” Elsa let out a little huff.  “Ugh.  I mean I have the money, of course, but it’ll definitely put a dent in what I’d been saving to go visit Anna and Kristoff.”

In short, by the time that Saturday and the move-in rolled around, both Elsa and Emma were ready for any kind of distraction from the difficulties of their work lives.  Donning their comfiest jeans and hoodies, they piled into Emma’s yellow bug to head over to Killian’s apartment.  Elsa was, of course, markedly more excited than Emma on the ride over.  Emma found herself glancing repeatedly over to her purse, where the engagement ring had remained tucked away since the Hearts Tarts debacle.  She sighed.  “I’m really not sure this is a good idea,” she repeated for probably the twentieth time since they’d gotten up that morning.

“I know,” Elsa replied brightly.  “But I am, and you know I’m right.  This will be just what you need to ease the tension for next week’s sting.  And just what _I_ need to take my mind off of Mr. Weselton and the whole crazy thing at Granny’s.”

When Elsa’s phone chirped out confirmation that they’d arrived at the right place, though, Emma wasn’t so sure Elsa would be able to forget about Granny’s at all.  It was scarcely half a block away.  When she pointed that out, though, Elsa dismissed it with a wave of her hand.  “Oh, that’s because Granny’s still the landlord,” she explained.  “Killian told me she’s had her eye on this new tenant who was struggling to pay the bills—her heart went out to him and so she suggested Killian and he share the load by rooming together.  She’s so sweet like that.”

“She sure is,” Emma mumbled, already disengaged from the conversation.  She was looking up at the building and trying to ignore the churning in her stomach.  Before long, though, a rental van pulled up alongside them, and Emma knew she didn’t have any more time to psych herself up.  She suddenly felt Elsa’s hand, cool and reassuring, squeeze her wrist.

“You can do this.  It’s going to be fine.” She whispered, and with that, the van door swung open and Killian stepped out.

“Sorry I’m late, Elsa, the storage place’s close-out policy is a nightma—“ He stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of Emma.  “—erm.  Swan.  I . . .”

Elsa’s voice was a whisper. “ _Oh by the way I may not have mentioned to him that you were coming—_ KILLIAN!”  She rushed forward to give him a friendly hug, which he reciprocated with one arm—eyes still locked on Emma.  “Yeah, Emma offered to tag along and bring her car, in case you couldn’t get all your stuff from the storage place in one trip.”

“I see,” He replied stiffly, glancing around and scratching the back of his neck as he searched for some possible means of escape—like walking in front of a speeding taxi.  “Well.  As luck would have it I did manage to empty the storage, but I could use some help getting a few boxes from my boat afterwards, if you’d be willing.”  His eyes searched Emma’s expression as he asked the question.  Emma swallowed hard, forcing her stomach back down from her throat, and smiled.

“Hey, what are friends for, right?”

“ . . . what indeed.  You have my thanks, Swan.”  His shoulders relaxed a bit after that, and when he moved to open the back of the van it was with a measure of the confident swagger that made him seem more like Killian.  “Will is upstairs finishing up his half of the roommate agreement Granny drafted for us.  He said he’ll help get things out of our way as needed.”

“Will!  What a nice name.  Does he seem like he’ll be a good roommate?” Elsa grabbed a couple boxes.

“He’s an idiot,” Killian laughed.  “But he’s a decent enough idiot, as far as I can tell.  And Granny vouches for him.  That’s enough for me.”

As they loaded themselves down with boxes and bags and began the trudge up the stairs, Emma hung back to walk beside Killian.  Elsa was a few paces above them, filling the air with enough pleasant chatter that they could walk in companionable silence.  It would definitely get easier to talk after a few trips up and down the stairs.  Totally.  Just as soon as she could figure out what the hell to say.

“So . . .” She finally started.  “Will is upstairs, you said?” She resisted the urge to wince at her own awkward small talk.

“Aye.  He should be just up there,” He indicated with a nod of his head, as they were nearing the end of the hallway.  “He said he’d leave the door unlocked for us and come out as soon as we arrived.”

“Oh.  Good.”  Emma did wince that time, and fixed her eyes firmly on the “FRAGILE” label on the box in her arms until they reached the door.

The door was indeed open, as Killian had indicated, and soon they found themselves in a rather sparsely furnished living room/kitchen.  One doorway to the right remained wide open as well, while another down the hall was shut, with the muffled sounds of music emanating from behind it.  “That’ll be Will in there,” Killian gestured to the closed door.  “The open one is my bedroom.”  He and Emma went to set their boxes down inside, while Elsa set hers on the dining room table, looking around.

“It’s nice!” she smiled broadly.  “I mean, sure, a little bare, but once you’re all settled in I’m sure it’ll be just perfect.”  The music turned off, and the door to the other bedroom opened. 

“Oi, Jones, you finally ‘ere?  Good, Granny’s got half of war and peace for you to sign . . .”

But Killian didn’t get a chance to reply.  As he and Emma were about to emerge into the hallway, the entire apartment fell silent.  Will stopped, dumbfounded, staring at Elsa in the dining room.  Elsa was staring back at him.  Her eyes narrowed, and the next word came out of her mouth so icy and sharp it could have shattered on the floor.

“ _You._ ”

Emma went pale.  It took all of half a second to figure out Will Scarlet’s day job and previous encounter with Elsa, and she used that half second to grab Killian by the collar and fairly _drag_ him back out the apartment door, slamming it behind them.  “New plan,” She was halfway down the stairs while she talked.  “We get those boxes from your boat _now_.  I guarantee you we do _not_ want to be in there right now.”

“Wha—I—what the bloody hell just happened?”  Killian sputtered, struggling to regain his footing and keep up with her.

“Your new roommate just cost Elsa several thousand dollars the other day,” Emma groaned.  “And Elsa is _not_ a ‘forgive-and-forget’ kind of person.”

Killian opened his mouth again, but it firmly snapped shut as there was suddenly an uptick in volume from the top of the staircase.  The words were muffled, but Elsa’s normally quiet tone now boomed out through the hallway in fury, punctuated by Will’s yelps and the sound of scrambling footsteps.  Killian’s eyes widened as he shared a glance with Emma, and they sped out the door and into the yellow bug.

* * *

 

“You _oaf!_ You _idiot!_ You arrogant, entitled, clumsy . . . .” Elsa advanced on Will, who was still standing dumbfounded in the apartment hallway.  She clenched and unclenched her fists, eyes blazing.  “Do you _know_ how much you owe me?  How much you cost me by being an incompetent buffoon??”

“I . . . can we please rewind for a sec and explain _what the bloody hell you are doing in my apartment??_ ”  Will’s voice was almost as enraged, but he took a fumbling step backward, flailing behind himself for the doorknob.

“You’re going to apologize.  PROPERLY.  And you are going to pay me back.”

“Pay you back for what? Embarrassing your weaselly little boyfriend?  Havin’ the gall to want to be paid a decent wage? Bein’ HUMAN and making a mistake?”  Will stumbled a bit, losing his balance in his quest for the doorknob.  He scrambled backwards a couple feet and pulled himself back to his feet, squaring his shoulders and attempting to look confident.  “You think you’re so high and mighty, your majesty.  Why should it be my fault that your stuff-shirt comb-over date has expensive tastes?”

“It was a business meeting, I told you that at the diner!” Elsa shot back.

“Right, like I ‘aven’t been around the block enough times to see coworkers sneaking in a little lunch date as a ‘business meeting.’” He raised an eyebrow, a satisfied smirk resting on his face, as though he believed he had her made.

That was a mistake.  “Oh good, so you’re not just an idiot, you’re a _misogynistic_ idiot.”  Elsa took another step forward, and Will’s confidence dissolved into quailing at her fierce gaze.  “Just because I’m friendly with a man from work, he’s my date?”

“I didn’ mean—“

“Did it occur to you that I might be a _competent businesswoman_? Did it ever once dawn on you that I might owe that man for the damages because he is someone _with whom I do business_?  Did you, at some point, work up the capacity of forethought to understand that you ruined a vital meeting for an _extremely valuable investment?_ ”  She was at his doorway now, nearly nose to nose with him, eyes ablaze.

“Did it occur to you, _your majesty_ , that tearin’ strips out a glorified busboy-in-training is kinda low for someone who’s apparently got a vast corporate fortune at her beck and call?” Will’s voice softened, still trembling a bit.

Elsa stopped short.  “Well—that’s not—that is to say. . .”

But Will had the upper hand now, and he wasn’t about to let it slip away again.  “You, miss competent businesswoman, prob’ly make more eating lunch with stuffy idiots than I make in a week of spilling soup on ‘em.  An’ as you’ve noticed from the fact that you’re apparently best mates with me new roommate, I’m already strugglin’ to make ends meet.  So you’ll forgive me, I hope, if I grouse a little bit over not getting tips from the fancy folk when I’m scroungin’ up whatever I don’t need to keep me in ramen and pop tarts to keep the bloody lights on!”

Elsa’s mouth hung open for just a second, then she turned on her heel and stomped back to the box she had set down, opening it and slamming a few items onto the table.

“You could at least apologize,” she grumbled.

“So could you.” He griped back.

They sat there for a second, unsure how to break the building tension in the room, when Will suddenly looked around the room.

“Wait just a second.  Where did Jones and your blonde friend go?”

* * *

 

“Another left up here.”

“I know where the docks are, Killian.”

“Pardon.”

Emma restrained the urge to sigh.  As soon as they had pulled away from the apartment, their conversation had become nearly monosyllabic again.  She knew he was glancing at her whenever her eyes were fixed on the road, could _feel_ the urge to speak in the air.  It was getting annoying.  
  
“Look, let’s not dance around this any more, okay?” She finally burst out.  “I was dumb and it made things weird between us.  I’m sorry.  I’ve had a lot on my plate and pretending to be engaged is not making anything easier.  But we still have to spend time together and . . . much as I might hate to admit it, you’re growing on me.  As a _friend,_ ” she added hastily, because that eyebrow was poised and ready and he was on the verge of saying something that would make her roll her eyes. “Everything else is complicated.  But friends doesn’t have to be.  If you want.”  They had arrived in the parking lot for the pier, and Emma turned to gauge Killian’s reaction. 

Gauging it turned out to be much harder than Emma thought.  He was staring out towards the pier, until finally he turned and offered a half-smile.  “I’d be honored, Swan.”  It rang with genuine sincerity.  Emma decided a nod was enough of a reply before she scrambled out of the car to avoid thinking about her stomach flipping over.

As they made their way towards the docking area, Emma couldn’t help but notice that Killian’s shoulders relaxed and his breaths grew deeper, as though he could inhale enough of the salt air to bottle and bring back into town with him.  She smiled.  This was one of her favorite places, too—something about the water had always relaxed her.  “So which one is your ship?” she glanced around, reading the names, trying to imagine what it would be like to be on one of the vessels as it pushed through the waves.

Killian gestured towards the end of the dock.  “The Jolly is down that way.”  He laughed a bit.  “Maybe it’s best you see it before our next encounter with Zelena.  She might ply you for more information.”

“Wouldn’t put it past her.”  That made Emma frown.  She still hadn’t figured out why Zelena was so on guard.

Killian nodded at the darkening of Emma’s expression. “Still no idea as to the source of our leak, then?”

“It just doesn’t make any sense.  Regina wouldn’t want her to know—she’s the one shelling out the big bucks for the sting.  Isaac is a moron, but he’s a professional and he’s good at what he does.  And one blown sting would shatter his reputation—which is _everything_ to Isaac.  I don’t know.  Just. . . keep your eyes out for anyone who seems more interested in your job than is normal.  Crap.”

“What?”

“Oh nothing.  My phone.”  Emma pulled it out of her pocket, sighing a bit as she read the notification.

**Thought long enough yet?**

“I really do need to get back to him,” she murmured, then tucked the phone back into her pocket and surged forward to the boat Killian had indicated.

“I assume that was the ‘someone’ you mentioned.” Killian kept stride with her, examining her face.  “And judging by your expression I take it you were quite serious about things being ‘complicated.’”

Emma gave Killian a long stare.  “I don’t really do this, you know? Talk.  About that stuff.”

Killian raised his hands in surrender.  “Far be it from me, Swan, to intrude in your affairs.  I just thought I could offer a listening ear while you vent your frustration.  It’s the least I can do,” He gestured to the Jolly Roger, a small cruising trawler that was clearly well-loved and fastidiously kept, and offered a shrug. “After all, you are moving my things.”

Emma was transfixed for just a moment, running her hand along the edge with a dreamy smile.  “This is yours?  It’s way nicer than I imagined.”

“You _wound_ me, Swan.  Would you expect me to have anything less than a remarkable vessel?”  Killian hopped aboard, and extended an arm to her with a grin.

She couldn’t help it.  She grinned back.  “Permission to come aboard, Captain?”  She took his hand.

“Permission granted.”

* * *

 

“Her car is gone.  That means I’m stuck here.”

“Bloody hell.”

Will and Elsa sat in stony silence for a good five minutes, as though by sheer force of their stubbornness they could will Killian and Emma to return.

It didn’t work.

“So.  As long as you’re trapped in my living room you might as well tell me a bit more about the bloke who’s makin’ your life so miserable.”

“You already know everything there is to know about yourself, I’d imagine,” Elsa’s words were clipped.  Will rolled his eyes.

“We both know that’s a lie, isn’t it?  Really it’s not me you’re mad at.  It’s the bloke with the comb-over.  He’s makin’ some bloody ordeal out of a two dollar bowl of soup, and it’s got your panties well and rightly bunched.”

Elsa raised an eyebrow.  “How about we keep the topic of conversation as far away from my panties as humanly possible?”

Will rolled his eyes yet again.  They were going to get stuck that way if she kept this up.  “You know what I mean.”

“Fine.”  Elsa nodded.  “His name is Mr. Weselton.  He’s a big investor and he’s . . . skittish.  And stodgy.”

“He’s a prat, you’re saying.”

Elsa laughed in spite of herself.  “Yeah, you could say that.  And the . . . erm. . . offending soup. . . stained his clothes, which I must replace to keep him happy so that he will continue investing lots and lots of money so my board of directors doesn’t get huffy that I’m going to be launching a new project in the summer.  So now I’m out several thousand dollars in designer menswear, and my visit to see my little sister will probably have to be postponed.”  Will leaned forward at that, expression darkening and fists clenching.  Elsa continued, “It’s stupid and ridiculous but it’s part of the politics of my job, and I’m angry so I took it out on you.  And for that. . . I am sorry.”

“I don’t suppose you could just stuff the bills down his pompous, greedy little throat,” Will offered.  That got another laugh from Elsa, but Will’s fury was building. “I’m only sort of joking.  What a self-important prick.  If he has enough money to wow your company, he’s obviously got enough to buy a new bloody suit.”

“That’s the thing about power.  Having a lot of it means that you expect other people to submit to it.  Mr. Weselton is powerful because he’s rich, and he can make my life difficult if I don’t play ball.  So I will . . . I just hate it.”

“Well after hearing all of _that_ ,” Will fumed, standing up and crossing to the window.  “I can’t very well apologize for spilling soup on him.  Had I known he was a cocky sack of wind pretending to be a person, I would’ve gotten there a bit sooner so it singed his stringy hair.”

  
“Will. . .”  
  
“But I _can_ apologize for my cock-up putting you in this position.  Sorry.”  Will sat down next to her again.  “An’ I can’t pay you back.  But I can make it up to ya, a bit, if you like.” 

Elsa turned to face him.  “What did you have in mind?”  Her voice was suspicious.

“Don’t got much in the way of money, but I do get free meals at Granny’s on the clock,” Will explained.  “I could cover your lunch there if you eat with me while I’m on my break.  ‘S not much, but free food until you get sick of Granny’s meatloaf is somethin’ at least.”  He looked away, scratching the back of his neck and shrugging.  “I mean, you’d have to be willin’ to put up with this ugly mug starin’ you in the face while you eat, but . . .”

“Sure.”

Will jumped a bit.  “…what?”

“Sure.  Why not.”  Elsa offered what was very nearly a friendly smile.  “I can take a late lunch at the diner with you a few times a week.”  She shrugged.  “Just so you can make it up to me, of course.”

“Of course,” Will repeated.  There was a tense silence again, but it was a tension of an entirely different kind.  Eventually, Will cleared his throat.  “Well.  I should. . . probably call Jones and see what’s keeping him.”  He stood up as though he had suddenly been made aware of his limbs, and shuffled back to his room to grab his phone.  He was grinning as he turned away.

Elsa stood, taking a moment to examine the window where Will had been.

She was grinning too.

* * *

 

By the time Killian’s phone rang, Emma had decided that she never wanted to leave the Jolly Roger.

It was comfortable and spacious inside, and immaculately clean, with enough of Killian’s belongings neatly packed away to keep him at sea for at least a week.  “Leave those here,” He had directed, motioning Emma instead to a few totes labeled “Storage,” “I keep those for when I have some time off.”

  
She had followed his lead, hoisting the totes up and carrying them up to the deck.  She had found herself slowing on the way back down to get a second load, running her hand along the rail and resisting the urge to examine every nook and cranny of the vessel.  By the time she forced herself back below deck, she nearly crashed into Killian on his way up.  He was smiling—not his usual mischievous grin, not the unsearchable smile that felt something like longing, but something soft and understanding.

“I’d know that look anywhere, Swan.  I didn’t realize you loved the sea that much.”  He set down his totes and stood by the railing, inviting her to stand beside him.

“I don’t know much about it, honestly,” Emma admitted.  Killian raised an eyebrow.

“You don’t have to know something well to love it, Emma.”

“I . . .”  She laughed nervously.  “I went through a lot of foster homes as a kid and not a lot of consistency, but. . .”  She turned to face away from the pier, out towards the open water.  “I was always close enough to the coast that I could sneak a bus ride out here when nobody was paying attention to where I was.  It always felt more like home than anything else did.”

There was a beat as both of them processed what Emma had just said.  She was about to apologize—he didn’t need that baggage—when he spoke up. “My father left when I was very young.  My brother found work on a fishing crew, and it was just enough for us to survive on until he joined the Navy.  Days when I got to see him—when I got to spend a day with him on the water—those were the highlights of my childhood.”

“. . . Oh.  Wow.”  Emma and Killian remained like that, staring at the water, for several minutes before Killian jumped a bit at the sound of his phone.

“Oh—it’s Will.  So he survived his encounter with Elsa, I presume,” Killian grinned wickedly at Emma before turning away to answer.  “Scarlett, what are you—no, we’re at the pier.  We decided to get the rest of my things first.  No, that never entered our minds—I think ‘torture’ is a bit dramatic, Elsa’s a lovely lass—Keep your shirt on, Scarlett, we’ll be there soon.  Or don’t keep it on, if that’s what the lady prefers….”  Killian grinned wickedly and hung up just as the shouted stream of profanities grew loud enough for Emma to hear several feet away.  She tried to raise her eyebrows in disapproval, but a laugh escaped her mouth before she could fashion a serious expression.  Killian joined her, and when the laughter finally died down, they agreed that they really should be heading back with the totes.

As they loaded the car and began their drive back, the conversation between the two of them became easier and more friendly.  It was especially worthwhile to imagine what had transpired in the apartment while they had been gone.  Will had apparently described the encounter as nothing short of agonizing.  “But,” Killian had smugly added, “He also suggested that he thought we’d be another several hours, so methinks he’s a bit more keen to have alone time with Elsa than he lets on.” 

Emma grinned.  “Elsa seemed a lot angrier than the situation really deserved—she saves that kind of anger for when she’s feeling a little something else and doesn’t like to admit it.”

“Concealing her true feelings for fear of being exposed?  You two have more in common than I realized,” Killian froze in his seat as soon as the words escaped his mouth.  He turned to gauge Emma’s reaction.  She, too, was quite still.

After a tense moment, Emma’s grip on the steering wheel relaxed.  “You’re not wrong,” she admitted, smiling faintly.  “Sorry.  I suck at this stuff.”

“You’re becoming more proficient, I think,” Killian replied.  “As long as I’m dancing across the line here, might I offer a suggestion?”

“Sure,” Emma shrugged.  “Might as well.”

Killian nodded.  “Well then.  I don’t know much about this gentleman who makes your life so complicated, but I think you ought to meet with him.  Either make amends or, at the very least, get closure.”

Emma let out a sigh as she made her way back onto the road leading to the apartment.  “I know.  You’re right.  He deserves that much.”

“To hell with him,” Killian replied.  “ _You_ deserve that much.  You deserve to know whether this is something worth pursuing or if he’s going to break your heart.”  As they pulled behind the moving van and Emma turned to face Killian in disbelief, she found that same unsettling sincerity in his eyes.

“And if he does break my heart?”

Killian shrugged one shoulder, holding her gaze.  “If it can be broken, at least it still works.”

* * *

 

The rest of the day at Killian and Will’s apartment had been. . . interesting.  Emma had caught Will and Elsa stealing glances at each other when they weren’t tossing sarcastic barbs at one another or glaring at her and Killian for abandoning them.  She was also certain that she’d seen Elsa enter Will’s number into her phone, but when she questioned her on the way home, Elsa had replied that it was “a business arrangement,” and refused to give any further details.  Emma bit her lip.  Maybe they really were more alike than either of them liked to admit.

As for Killian, he had continued on without pushing any further on Emma’s emotional barriers, trading lighthearted dialogue as much as possible and thanking both Emma and Elsa profusely for their assistance with the move-in.  After a round of pizza for payment, Emma and Elsa had returned home and collapsed in bed without a lot of conversation.  It had been a long day.

Before she drifted off, though, Emma finally took Killian’s advice and replied to Walsh’s text:

**I have another sting to do this week so I have to focus on that, but we could get together afterwards.  Friday, maybe.**

He replied almost immediately:  
  
**Friday sounds great.  Let’s take a walk by the beach—I know how much you love it there.  Love you xx**

Emma sighed.  Maybe he really was trying to patch things up.  But all she could think about was clear blue eyes gazing straight into her soul, reminding her that her heart was working just fine after all.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOSH I'M ALIVE. I'm so sorry. I have no excuses--lots of reasons, but no excuses. I hope to get another chapter up sooner, but I can't guarantee anything. Just know that I still love you, my readers, I still love this fic, and I still plan to finish it.
> 
> Enjoy this (LONG) chapter and let me know what you think!

This was always the worst part—the pre-sting camera interview.

Emma fidgeted behind the unassuming rental space Isaac had converted into his “Surveillance Room” for the White Rabbit, adjusting the slinky red dress so that it showed her cleavage in a _decidedly_ unprofessional fashion.  Isaac’s lead cameraman, a reliable but stodgy middle-aged crewman, raised an eyebrow as she fussed over the outfit.  Emma rolled her eyes.

“You know how it is with the night jobs, Doc.  Client thinks his associate manager is hiring based on sex appeal, not actual experience or ability—tonight I’m sex appeal.”

“And I’m ability,” a crisp voice cut in as Priscilla Blue rounded the corner.  She gave Emma a polite wave, taking a stand at her own mark a couple of feet away and adjusting a pair of sensible, thick-rimmed glasses out of the pocket of her almost too-professional dress suit.  She gave her coworker an obliging smile.  “Emma. So good to see you again.  I trust you’re ready for a full day?”

Emma nodded back amiably.  “Always.  And you?”

  
“Oh, you know me.  I can do ‘frigid but capable’ for _days_.”

Emma couldn’t help but laugh at that, and then they lapsed into silence as they adjusted their earpieces and prepared for shooting to begin.  Blue always gave her a weird vibe, but she got the job done.  Emma could hardly complain about that.

As Doc motioned for the cameras to roll, Emma stared into the lens for her big, dramatic moment.  “Jefferson is worried that his manager is being inappropriate with the waitresses that he hires.  I’ll be going undercover as a potential employee to see just how he handles an unprofessional interviewee if she’s willing to have a little fun with him.”  She winked. 

The camera cut, and Doc rolled his eyes.  “Overplayed it, Emma.  One more take, without the wink this time.”  Emma groaned, and went again. 

She was so focused on delivering the line and moving on to prep for the sting, she didn’t notice Killian taking his place at his own mark.  After she had gone through this process four more times (Doc ALWAYS had notes, even though the clip would only last five seconds), she glanced over to find Killian completely unable to tear his eyes away.  His eyebrows had receded neatly into his hairline, and a mischievous grin spread wide on his face.

Emma was torn between embarrassment and exasperation, taking a step away from the wall as Blue began her piece.  “Take a good, long look,” Emma raised an eyebrow.  “I only pull this thing out when I’ve got bozos to sucker in.  Wearing it is like a freaking vise grip on my ribs.”

“Your discomfort is a cross I’m willing to bear,” Killian nodded appreciatively.  “Giving new meaning to the phrase ‘hell in high heels,’ aren’t we?”

“Yeah, yeah.  Get it all out of your system now, so we can get to work, alright?”

  
“On the contrary, Swan, I meant it in good fun—and with no disrespect.  You cut quite a figure.”  He dipped his head.  “It will be a pleasure being served by you this evening.”

“If I get hired,” she said, glancing over to view Blue as she finished up her piece on camera.  Doc was as satisfied as he ever could be, and now turned his attention to Killian.

Killian gave Emma one more playful wink before he turned his attention to the lens in front of him.  “If this Nottingham fellow is as we are to believe, then I have no doubt that you will be.”

 

* * *

 

The rest of the sting prep was a blur.  Killian had to meet with Isaac to go over the evening’s schedule and get his earpiece, since he was still a new hire.  Emma was supposed to show up late for her interview—which was after Blue’s, anyway.  That meant the better part of the next couple of hours was spent putting the finishing touches on her hair, sound-checking with Doc, and catching up with P.I. August Booth who arrived a bit later for his live interview with Isaac and Jefferson during the actual sting.  August was a longtime employee of Isaac’s, and he always had a story on the tip of his tongue.  By the time Blue returned to the alleyway, briskly walking past to rest in her car, Emma was laughing so hard she had almost forgotten when to come in.

“ . . . and you couldn’t move your leg at all?” Emma managed between chuckles.

  
“Not a bit.  The nurse thought I was crazy.”  August laughed.  “But anyway, enough of my life as an idiot abroad.  Seriously—keep an eye out in there today.  The stuff I pulled up on this guy. . . he’s a creep, Emma.”  August’s normally easygoing expression hardened for just a moment.  He jerked his head briefly towards the path Blue had just returned from, which Emma would soon be taking to the White Rabbit. “Just. . . remember Isaac can pull you out if he makes you really uncomfortable.”

Emma rolled her eyes.  “I can handle myself, August.  You know that.”

He nodded in reply, an almost sad smile crossing his features as he took in the sight of Emma one more time.  “Of course I know that.  I just like looking out for you.  That’s all.”

As August was speaking, Killian emerged from his meeting with Isaac.  He regarded August and Emma with confusion for a moment, then slumped his shoulders down and nodded to Emma.  “Suppose I can wait at the cafe down the street for a while.  I imagine I’ll see you tonight, love.”

“Killian, wait. This is—“  
  
“I should go.”  He gave another brief nod to August, and then made his way back through the alley.

August’s bewildered gaze followed Hook as he went.  “What was that about?”

“Just. . . a work friend.  He thought you were someone else.”  Emma stifled the uneasiness in her stomach, turning toward her route to the bar.  Whatever Killian was thinking couldn’t shake her right now.  It was time to work.

 

* * *

 

Settling herself back into sting mode took Emma a few moments longer than she would have liked, but it was just as well anyway.  After all, she was supposed to show up late and be unprofessional.  So when she tottered in 20 minutes after her interview was scheduled to begin, giggling absently, all it did was sell the part.

And boy, did Mr. Nottingham seem interested in buying.  “Miss Swan, I presume—can I call you Emma, lovely? Right this way.  We’ve been expecting you.”  He was an oily man, dark hair slicked back and shiny under the bar lights and a grin that made Killian’s most mischievous endeavor look positively saintly.  Not that Emma was thinking about Killian at all.  She successfully stifled the cringe as Nottingham slid his arm around her shoulders, drawing her tight as he guided her to her seat for the interview.  She forced an airy grin.

“I’m sorry I’m late, Mr. Nottingham—I just couldn’t decide what to do with my hair, and then my friend wanted to grab some coffee, and—“

“Oh pay it no mind, darling, really there’s no trouble.  You were our only interview for today anyway.”  His gallantry would have been believable were it not for the lies and the way his fingers remained at the small of her back until she stepped forward and took her seat.  Emma sat down and, as an afterthought, pulled her folded and crumpled resume out of her purse.  “Oh, I guess you’ll probably need this, won’t you, Mr. Nottingham?”

“Please, call me Keith,” he replied with a wave of the hand.  He then took the beat-up papers and scanned through them in a matter of seconds.  “Yes, well.  Everything seems to be in order here, but let’s get to know _you_ , Emma.  We like to have fun around here, and help our guests have fun, and you seem like you’d fit right in. . .”

And that was it.  Some blithe chatting about favorite cocktails, a fictitious spring break in Miami, and texting while on the job, and Keith Nottingham had Emma on the payroll.  She was to come in for the evening to begin her ‘training,’ as had been arranged by the owner before the sting began.  So with a final giggle and a wave, Emma rounded away from the White Rabbit and, without even thinking, made a beeline for the café down the street.

She ripped out her earbud as soon as she knew it was safe, uninterested in hearing Isaac murmur in her ear until she was on camera again in a few hours.  Her pace quickened.  The dress and heels she was in were NOT made for running—but here she was anyway, walking pace quickly progressing to a jog, and allowing the words to tumble out of her mouth before the bell on the café door had even finished chiming.

  
“That wasn’t him.”  She stopped short in the doorway, only now aware of how ridiculous she must look racing into the nearest Starbucks ripoff, dressed to kill, shouting out nonsense to the patrons in line.  She hadn’t even stopped to look for Killian—maybe he wasn’t even in here?  Panic flashed across her mind until she heard the familiar voice from a table to her left.

“Swan? Beg pardon?”  


Killian had risen to his feet, coffee resting forgotten on the table.  “What are you doing here?  I haven’t heard anything yet, did your interview go—“

  
“—it’s fine.”  Emma was suddenly very aware of the many eyes fixed on her.  She shuffled forward a bit, taking a seat at the table, and glancing absently out the window.  Eventually the rest of the café got back to their blogs and lattes or whatever, and Emma was able to bring herself to look back at Killian.  “Everything is fine.  I just. . . that was August.  He works on the show and he’s. . . he’s not.  That’s not who I was talking about. Before, I mean.”

Killian’s brow furrowed.  “I . . . you seem close with him.  I had thought perhaps your conversation went better than you hoped.”

“August is a work friend,” Emma said flatly.  “He tells great stories and we like catching up when we’re on set together.  Walsh is. . . Walsh doesn’t do what we do.  He doesn’t even really understand it.”

“Walsh being. . . the gentleman who makes things so complicated for you.” Killian offered.

Emma shrugs.  “Yeah.  He thinks it’s all cheap thrills for reality TV.  I’m a ‘glorified waitress’ who plays to the camera for drama.”

Killian’s grip on the table tightened. “Ridiculous. My Emma does so much more than that.”

Emma’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline.  “ _Your_ Emma?”

Killian gave a start, suddenly very interested in his rapidly cooling cup of coffee.  “I—the Emma I know, I mean.  Of course.”  He fixed his blue, blue eyes on her again, oozing that sincerity that made her stomach flip.  “You are owned by no one—but I assume that you knew that already.”

“I do.  But how do you know so much about my talent?  We’ve only been on one sting meetup together so far.”

“Two, if you count our little run-in with Zelena at the beanstalk.”

“Still.”

“It’s not difficult to see—you’re good at what you do.”  Killian shrugged.  “You slip into and out of character very easily, very convincingly.  If I didn’t know better, even I would have believed that we were blissfully in love—both at the Beanstalk and at the bakery.”  The short pause was enough for Emma’s entire face to bloom into warmth.  “And besides that, you clearly care a great deal about bringing justice to these wronged restauranteurs.”

Emma laughed in spite of herself.  “‘Restauranteurs’?  You better not be talking like that at the dive bar tonight or they’ll be able to spot you as a phony five minutes in.”  That brought a laugh from Killian, too, and for just a few moments, it felt to Emma as though they had been doing this since they met—giving each other grief, laughing about it, moving forward.  Like friends.  “Thanks.  Not many people really ‘get’ our job.”

“Well, hopefully at least one more person will ‘get’ it tonight, after we get this lecherous lout fired.”  Killian regarded Emma with a gentle gaze.  “Thank you as well, Swan.  For confiding in me.”

Emma shrugged.  “All I did was tell you Walsh’s name.”

“That’s more than I’d ever hoped to be trusted with.  It’s an honor.”

The dip in Emma’s stomach returned.  “Um, we should probably start getting ready for the actual sting.”

“Right!”  Killian stood, adjusting his leather jacket and pulling from his pocket a frankly ridiculous number of rings.  He began sliding them onto his fingers.  “I’ll be adding some eyeliner to the ensemble as well—thought it might really sell the nightclub vibe.  What do you think, love?  Devilishly handsome?”  He gave her a salacious grin.

Emma rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face.

 

* * *

 

Loud music, gaudy neon lights, and the humidity that could only come from way too many bodies on the dance floor—Emma did NOT love the nightclub atmosphere.  At least the noise and distraction made it very easy to act absentminded.  Emma had already dropped someone’s margarita on the floor, mixed up three wildly different cocktail orders, and left one patron waiting for his beer and wings for well over twenty minutes.  All of this with a flirt, a flounce, and the occasional low dip or brush-past of Nottingham.

 Blue, meanwhile, was doing _spectacularly_ well, just as planned.  She weaved between dancers with a plate of drinks balanced deftly on her fingers.  She was pleasant, helpful, and provided timely service at every single table she served—which, to be fair, was a very small number, since Nottingham was only letting her train because Jefferson had _insisted_ that both candidates get a fair trial run.

 Even in the midst of the noisy crowd, Emma had heard Nottingham shouting at Blue several times even in the first hour and a half.  Not once had he mentioned anything about Emma’s numerous “mistakes.”  This was to be expected, but it was almost time to make absolutely sure Nottingham was discriminating and not just blissfully unaware of Emma’s failures.  Killian stepped into the club, and Phase Two began.

 “Killian,” Isaac ordered through the comms, “make sure you get seated at Emma’s table.”  The plan had already been covered well in advance, but for the benefit of the client and the viewers, Isaac always painstakingly announced each step during the main sting.

 Killian remained unfazed.  “On it,” he murmured, and Emma watched him saunter over with a big grin and a friendly wave.  She stopped short, nearly sending another patron’s drink smashing to the ground.

 He had kept the rings, and added an assortment of other jewelry to his usual leather-and-vest outfit.  It worked.  Strangely, it suited him amazingly well. And, yes, he had gone for the eyeliner as well—and the combined ensemble made him look like the kind of guy who would own a _real_ Jolly Roger instead of a trawler by the same name.

 For the first time, Emma was grateful for the poor nightclub lighting—Killian wouldn’t be able to see the color bloom across her cheeks as she approached.

 “Hi,” She flashed an easy grin, twirling her hair with the hand that wasn’t holding the drink for table seven.  “Welcome to the White Rabbit, I’m Emma. . . can I get you anything?”

 “What’s on the menu?” Killian took her in, up and down, with a _very_ convincing hungry smile. 

 Emma let out another girlish giggle.  “Have a seat wherever,” she waved around, but ended with her fingers pointing towards the empty table that she knew would have the best view for the hidden cameras.  “I’ll be with you as soon as I drop this off.”

 By the time Emma had made her way back to Killian’s table, Nottingham had already dismissed Blue for the night.  “It’s just not working out,” Emma heard him say as she meandered through the crowd, bumping into the occasional patron.  “I just don’t think you’re the right fit for what we’re doing here at the White Rabbit.”  Emma would have guessed it would be another half an hour, at least.  The thought that Nottingham must really hate sensible businesswear kept her in the game as she began to cheerily scribble down Killian’s order.

 “Okay, now, Emma, when Killian’s food is ready, be sure to stall a few minutes, and maybe spill his drink on him—something good and visible so that it makes sense for him to complain,” Isaac’s voice chirped in Emma’s ear.

 “You got it, Isaac,” Emma replied, thankful that the cameras wouldn’t be able to catch the grimace she made.  She slid into the kitchen area to drop off some dishes, and nearly careened into Nottingham.

 “OH! Keith!  I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there,” Emma tittered.

 “Oh don’t worry about it, sweet thing,” Nottingham flashed a smarmy grin, sliding his hand around Emma’s shoulder as he accompanied her into the kitchen.  “I haven’t gotten to check in with you tonight, but it looks like you’ve been doing great on your first shift!  How are you feeling?”

 “Um, well, you know, it’s pretty fun and the music is great!  I did get a couple orders wrong, though.  And I spilled a Margarita by table nine.”

 “Details, details, babe!  You’re doing fantastic, I’m sure.  Everyone has a few hiccups on their first night.  All about the journey!”

 Emma bit back a laugh.  He hadn’t been so concerned with the “journey” when Blue served a table without giving them an acceptable number of napkins.

 “Ok great!  I should get back out there, I guess, right?”  Emma set down the glass and began squeezing past Nottingham to get on with delaying Killian’s order, but he blocked her with his arm and leaned in close.

 “What’s your hurry?  I was wondering if you have plans after your shift.”  He licked his lips and grinned.  “Some of the guys and I are having a little get-together at my place, thought you might want to get to know everyone a little bit better.  There’ll be drinks, a hot tub, some more great tunes. . .”

 “Oh, wow!”  Emma stalled, leaning against the wall a bit to separate her body from the one pressing in on her.  “I mean, that sounds. . . really fun, you know?”

 “Yeah, it’s gonna be great,” Nottingham leaned in closer.

 “Emma—accept the invitation and find a way to get back to the tables.” Isaac commanded over the earpiece.

 “I wouldn’t miss it,” Emma slid her hands up Nottingham’s chest and playfully nudged him away from her.  “um, but I do have to pick up this guy’s order soon though, so. . .”

 “Of course, of course.”  Nottingham dismissed her with a wave of his hand.  “Go break some hearts, babe, but don’t be breaking mine!”

 Emma loitered as conspicuously as possible for about ten minutes after she saw Killian’s order come up.  She wondered how many other ladies had been harassed out of a job at the White Rabbit before she came along.  As much as she had gotten used to the creeps and the sleazebags she met on the job, it never ceased to make her shudder afterwards.  It would be over soon, though.  Killian would complain, Nottingham would _clearly_ ignore her faults, maybe suggest she flirt a little harder to get fewer complaints, and Jefferson would call the sting after seeing all he needed to see.  Another idiot pulled out of a job, and Emma would be ready to head home and tell the story to Elsa over cocoa and a bad movie.

 Emma retrieved Killian’s food after she was certain she could no longer see any steam rising from the wings, and tottered over to his table in such a way that little droplets of Guinness splattered on the tray and his plate. “So um, I was on the phone and missed when your order came out,” Emma said, setting the food on the table.  “But it still looks really good right?”

 Killian let out a frustrated sigh.  “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting?”  
  
“Not really?”  Emma shrugged.

 “Could I speak with your manager please?”  Killian broke character for just a split second to give Emma an almost imperceptible nod.

 “Right, um, I guess.”  She meandered back to the kitchen where she had left Nottingham.  “Um, Keith? This guy at my table wants to talk to you.”

 She trailed behind, murmuring to Isaac through the earpiece that Keith was going to receive the complaint.  Her role was almost done—she just had to stay in visual range of Killian until Jefferson barged in to take Nottingham back to the sting room for the “big reveal.”

 What she didn’t expect was the shoving.

 She couldn’t hear exactly what was going on between Nottingham and Killian—the earpieces only connected them to Isaac, not each other, and the music drowned out any hope of hearing from a distance.  What she could see was that when Killian had gestured in her direction, Nottingham had shoved Killian backwards.

 “Isaac? It’s looking like things are getting a bit heated…” Emma pushed past a red-streaked brunette dancing with a well-muscled girl with a sword tattoo, trying to get close enough to hear more.  “Should I intervene? Isaac?”

 

No response.

 Emma sidestepped another couple, a bushy redhead elbowing a muscular guy covered in swirls of blue paint, and could finally hear what was growing into quite a row.

 “I said you’re drunk and you’re harassing my servers and I want you out of my bar!” Nottingham roared, jabbing his finger at Killian’s chest. “If we’re gonna have a problem, I can get one of my bouncers to explain this to you better.”

 “I’ve barely had a sip of my bloody beer!”  Killian gestured to the table.  “I just wanted to know what was going to be done about the terrible customer service!”

 “Look, we can take this outside if you really want to,” Nottingham countered.  “Don’t play dumb with me—I saw how you were looking at her when she walked in, you perv.  What, did you hit on her and it didn’t take, so now you’re gonna come whining to the manager about your chicken wings? Real mature, bro.”

 “That’s not even—“

 “Look, you missed your shot, okay buddy?  Already on that train.  Now I’m not going to ask you again: GET. OUT. OF. MY. BAR.”  Nottingham attempted to loom over Killian, who clenched an unclenched his fists several times. Emma did the same.  She was halfway there, almost ready to leave a permanent knuckleprint on Nottingham’s face, when she saw Jefferson and Isaac—Isaac? Out of the sting room?—and a host of cameramen making their way over to the scene.  Isaac made eye contact with her and crossed to see her immediately.

 “Someone called the cops when they noticed it getting heated, they’re on their way.  Jefferson wants me here with the footage.  You get the new guy out of here ASAP.”  Isaac then pushed his way towards the growing crowd surrounding Jefferson and Nottingham, raising his voice above the din.  “EXCUSE ME, I’M ISAAC HELLER WITH MYSTERY DINERS . . .”

 

In the confusion, Emma slipped behind Killian, touched his hand until it relaxed enough to take hers, and they vanished into the night.

 

* * *

 

“Well.  That was a disaster,” Killian had scarcely touched his food—though it was far fresher and more appetizing than what Emma had served him at the White Rabbit.

 “Hardly.”  Emma had no such trouble, and was already halfway through her grilled cheese.  “It didn’t come to blows, so that’s a win.  And we got the footage we needed.  Isaac was impressed.”

 “How can you tell?”

 “He asked me to bail you out rather than have you face the cops,” She grinned wickedly.  “That would have made for great TV.”

 He laughed at that, and took a bite of his burger.  “Fair point, Swan.” He managed between chews.  “You know what else is excellent viewing?” 

 He gestured with his chin towards the table in the corner.  There sat Elsa, half-eaten turkey club forgotten, laughing as Will made animated gestures to punctuate whatever story he was telling.  They could see little pink rivulets of melted milkshake running down the edges of a glass that clearly hadn’t been picked up for at least twenty minutes.  Elsa was leaned in, chin cupped in one hand.  Granny glanced over fondly at them as she came to refill Emma and Killian’s drinks.

 “She came for lunch, and then offered to stop by as she was bringing dinner home.  Purely for courtesy, I’m sure.”  Granny winked. “That was forty minutes ago.”

 Killian and Emma buried their grins in sampling their freshly-refilled sodas, and Granny returned to her familiar place behind the counter.

 “Better peoplewatching than the White Rabbit had to offer, for sure,” Emma agreed with a mouthful of grilled cheese.  “And less punching.”  
  
“There was no punching—it never came to blows, you said it yourself!”

 “Close, though, right? What a sight—you dressed up like a modern-day pirate, getting ready to start an old-fashioned tavern brawl in a gaudy nightclub.”

 “Swan, I was not going to start a brawl.”  He shrugged, face a bit sheepish.  “I’ll be honest, it was hard there towards the end, with the great oaf boasting about you as though you were his loot.”

 Emma gave a short laugh.  “Really sticking with the pirate vibe tonight!”

 “If the hook fits,” He countered with a grin and a raised eyebrow.

 “So what stopped you?”  Emma searched Killian’s expression as it softened to sincerity again, trying to find the place where he would brush it off, treat it as nothing.  After all, he considered himself a gentleman—cold-cocking a smarmy barkeep on the job was anything but gentlemanly. But no, he met her gaze with the same fierce determination and sincerity as always.

 “I meant what I said this afternoon, Emma—you belong to no man.”  He smiled, then allowed that smile to falter and fade.  “Not to that lout Nottingham, not to Walsh, and certainly not to me.  Had I struck Nottingham, it would have been in some sort of misguided effort to protect you—protection that you certainly do not require.”

 Emma was taken aback, but nodded in agreement. “The only one who saves me is me,” She replied.

 “Precisely.  I would hate to undermine the trust you placed in me this afternoon by presuming too much once more.”

 Emma took a long, drawn-out bite of her sandwich to mask that she could think of nothing to say.

 

* * *

 They ate and talked and laughed until Elsa and Will noticed them a half an hour later.  Elsa remained tight-lipped about her evening back at the apartment, but Emma couldn’t help but notice the redness at the tips of Elsa’s ears whenever Will’s name was mentioned.  She was much more interested, though, in the sting at the White Rabbit.  She reacted perfectly as Emma recounted the day’s events, as always.

 “I mean I would have punched him,” Elsa commented as they shut down the lights in the apartment.  “I get why Killian didn’t, but I would have.”  
  
“Of course you would,” Emma laughed.  “Why . . . why do you think he decided not to do it?”

 “Besides keeping his job? He cares about you, Emma, and you actually opened up to him.  It _mattered_ to you to tell him a detail about your life.  If you can’t see how big a deal that is . . . well, he sure can.”  Elsa smiled softly.  “I’m never going to tell you how to live your life, but I’m glad you’ve made friends with Killian, and he definitely is, too.”  And with that, Elsa went to her room for her weekly Skype with her sister before bed.

 Emma settled into bed, replaying what Elsa had said in her mind.  It hadn’t been that important.  She just didn’t want Killian thinking that she and August were anything.  That was it.  Telling him about Walsh. . . that had just sort of happened.

 

Hadn’t it?

 

It didn’t matter, anyway—she’d be meeting Walsh tomorrow, and then everything would be back to being simple in her love life.

 That thought wasn’t as comforting as Emma had hoped it would be.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY COW YOU GUYS TWO UPDATES WITHIN A WEEK OF EACH OTHER. I know, I'm surprised too. But this was the chapter that I was SO EXCITED to write.
> 
> Still lots more to happen in the story, obviously. THANK YOU FOR ALL THE INCREDIBLY KIND COMMENTS AND MESSAGES. I am overwhelmed that so many wonderful people love this story as much as I do <3

Emma inhaled deeply, letting the salt air and the sound of crashing waves and chattering pedestrians wash over her once again.  That welcoming sensation almost made her forget the reason she had arrived that afternoon.  At least Walsh had picked a place that put her at ease.

He was supposed to arrive any minute.  She leaned against a worn wooden post, part of the makeshift barrier that separated the parking lot from the beachfront, and scanned the cars for any sign of his beat-up green Buick.  Her vision drifted just past the parking lot, to the winding path that led to the Pier where she had been just a couple short weeks ago with Killian, but Emma shook her head and redirected her attention back to the cars in front of her.

This was about getting closure with Walsh, one way or the other.  That was it.  No need to bring work into this.

But was Killian really just a part of work anymore?

A buzz from Emma’s phone kept her from wandering down that trail of thought.  She glanced down to see a text from Walsh.

> **So Sorry. Customer would not shut up about our Chaise Lounge options, got out of the store a bit late.  Will be there ASAP, meet me by the beachfront entrance.  Love you xx**

“Great,” she muttered.  Late again.  He’d probably only be five more minutes or so—his furniture store wasn’t that far from the beach—but Emma was still tempted to jog down to the Lemon Ice stand and get something to munch before he got there, just to drive the point home.  He had been the one who wanted to sort things out like this, couldn’t he at least be—

“Emma?  Emma Swan?  Why, isn’t this the loveliest of surprises!”

The familiar voice made Emma’s blood run cold.

No.  Not here.  Not now.  Not today.

Emma slipped into an easy grin and turned around.  “Zelena?”  Sure enough, the baker was standing right beside her, adorned in a green sundress and floppy hat. 

Zelena let out a little squeal and flung her arms around Emma in an enthusiastic hug. “Oh, how lovely to see you again!  You know, we’ve been hard at work designing your cake and I really think you’re going to love it!”   Emma gasped and wriggled free of the woman’s embrace, and did her best to quell the rising panic in her gut.

“Oh, wow, that’s. . . that’s amazing!  I can’t wait until we get to come and see it.  What, uh. . . what are you doing here?”

“Well, you know what they say about all work and no play, Emma,”  Zelena winked.  “My dear old friend wanted to meet up for a picnic lunch and introduce me to someone special.”  She leaned in conspiratorially. “About time, if you ask me!  What about you?  Where’s Killian?”

“OH!  Well, you know. . . .”  Emma laughed.  “I was starting to wonder the same thing!  Would you mind? I should probably give him a call.”  She scanned the parking lot one last time.  Good.  No sign of the green buick yet.  She frantically dialed Killian up with one hand, shoving her left hand into her purse to grasp around for the ring.

“Swan?”  Killian’s voice was groggy.

“Hey, sweetheart!”  Emma tried her best to sound bright and upbeat, even though she had moved several paces away from Zelena.  “You’ll never guess who I ran into at the beach!”

“Bloody hell,” There were rustling sounds as Killian seemed to wake up very abruptly.  “Zelena? Today?  At the—hang on.  I can be there in two minutes.”

“Glad to hear it!  Love youuuuu,” Emma hung up just as she finally found the ring box in her purse.  Glancing back over her shoulder, she slid the ring on her finger while Zelena was still looking out across the cars.  Emma allowed herself a moment of pure, unadulterated panic.  What if Walsh got here while Zelena was waiting for her friend? What if he tried to kiss Emma?  What if he got there and _Killian_ was kissing Emma?  Why did she think that reconciling with Walsh in the middle of this stupid fake engagement situation would be anything even close to simple?  Her mind raced as she tried to come up with a way to keep Walsh away from the sting, and the sting away from him—but nothing was coming to her.  What was she going to tell Isaac?

Zelena was chattering incessantly about the friend she was supposed to meet with—an old pal from high school, apparently, though Emma picked up little else in her haze of anxiety—when Emma saw Walsh’s green Buick pull into the lot.  Her chest tightened, and for a moment Emma thought she was going to avoid this entire situation by passing out right there on the asphalt, inches away from the sand.

That was when two arms swept up underneath her, and she felt a scruffy chin resting against her forehead.

“There you are, love,” Killian announced his presence a touch louder than necessary, and Zelena swirled to look at them—instantly, a beaming smile spread across her face.  “Sorry, I thought you were meeting me at the Pier—I was busy getting everything ready.”

“Oh, no trouble,” Emma turned around in his arms to face him, mouthing a “thank you” right before kissing him on the cheek.  She pulled away and looked over at Zelena again, and tried to ignore the messy head of brown hair that was rising out of the Buick, headed quickly towards them.  “I was just talking to Zelena about our cake—she says it’s coming along.”

“That’s wonderful news,” Killian broke into a grin.  “I trust our unorthodox requests haven’t been too much trouble?”  
  
“Oh, don’t worry your little heads about that,” Zelena waved her hand.  “You two lovebirds just focus on the rest of the planning for your special day!  Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m actually looking for someone . . .”

Emma squeezed Killian’s shoulder, just about ready to dismiss him to wherever he had materialized from so that she could figure out a way to explain this to Walsh, when she heard Zelena’s voice again.

“Oh look, there he is!  Walsh, darling, you simply _must_ meet my favorite customers!”

Emma froze.  She glanced back up at Killian, whose brow was furrowed.  She then heard Walsh’s voice, halted and unsteady, reply, “Zelena!  Hey. . . I thought I told you to meet us farther down, by the restaurant?”

From that point, it took Emma roughly half a second to figure out what was happening.  It took her less than that to figure out how to respond. 

Guiding Killian’s hand around her waist, Emma sauntered over to where Walsh and Zelena were standing.  “Wow, Walsh,” Emma piped up.  “When you said you wanted to meet my fiancé, I didn’t realize you were bringing a plus one!  And the baker for our wedding cake, too— _what a coincidence._ ”

Zelena looked to Emma, then to Walsh—whose face was turning an appropriate shade of seafoam green—back to Emma.  “I’m sorry. . . Walsh said he was going to introduce me to a ‘very special someone,’ and I thought—“

“Oh, Walsh is always like that, so _secretive_ and _dramatic_.” Emma cut her off, but kept her gaze fixed unwaveringly on Walsh.  “He loves surprises.  But he was right, in a way—Killian is a _very_ special someone, and I’m so happy I finally get to introduce him to someone like Walsh.”

Killian took the lead here, stepping forward and extending his hand.  “Walsh, I presume.  Killian Jones, at your service—or, more appropriately, at _her_ service.”  His smile was just a touch icy as Walsh took his hand.  “Always. At her service.” 

There was a faint series of _pops_ as Walsh and Killian shook hands.  Walsh winced.

“Firm handshake you got there, pal.”

“I save it for special occasions, _friend_.”

“Now, now, boys, there will be plenty of time for male bonding over lunch.”  Emma smiled, looping her arm into Killian’s.  “Shall we? It’s still a bit of a walk, and we’ll need to pick up the pace if we’re going to get a beachside table!” 

“Um. . . of course,” Zelena nodded, scanning Walsh’s visibly shaken form one last time.  “I hate to be the one to mention the elephant in the room, but I’m feeling like I’m missing out on some subtext here.  Is everything alright?  It just feels rather awkward.”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Emma looked back, regarding Walsh with another hard stare.  “I guess this might be a little awkward, though.  See, a while ago, Walsh and I used to date.”

With that, Zelena seemed satisfied, and the four of them walked towards their lunch destination.  Walsh trailed several paces behind the others.

 

* * *

 

“I’m gonna kill him.”

“Swan—“  
  
“No I might actually do it.  Like physically murder him.  Do you know any cops? Bail bondspeople? Lawyers? You might want to give them a call because _I am going to kill him_.” 

The lunch had passed awkwardly but uneventfully, and now Emma was below deck in the Jolly Roger, nursing a drink of rum, glancing out the window and occasionally punching the bean bag chair in which she sat.  Killian stood calmly beside the wet bar, his own drink in hand.

“Make no mistake, you’ll have no argument from me,” Killian shrugged.  “I would just like to understand what the devil just happened.  Walsh was. . . the leak? He told Zelena about us?”

“Sort of,” Emma grumbled, downing the rest of her drink all at once.  “He’s smart enough to know that I’d see that coming a mile away.  There’s all kinds of legal crap I could have Isaac sic on him if he straight-up told anyone about a sting.”

“So then. . .”  Killian raised his eyebrows, gesturing with his hand for Emma to go on.

“I guess it’s just dumb, stupid, awful luck that he knew Zelena in high school,” Emma shrugged.  “But once he figured that part out, which must not have taken very long, he thought he’d be able to end this whole thing by getting her to _accidentally_ stumble on the sting.”  She crossed over to where Killian was standing to refill her glass.  “He told her about Ogre Mountain because it’s where I go to blow off steam.  Hoped I wouldn’t make the connection until after she got to know me.  Then I’d have to request someone else take the job with you.” 

“And this little charade?  What on earth could he hope to gain?”

“Expose me as his girlfriend while seeming like an innocent coincidence,” Emma took another gulp from her glass.  “Did you hear him? He wanted her to wait by the restaurant.  By that point, we’d have been walking together. . . he probably would have tried to have things smoothed over by then so we’d be holding hands or some crap.”  She shook her head.  “Then she’d see us together, he’d explain that he knew her and wanted us to meet and he had been trying _really_ hard not to interfere but whoops, looky there, she ambushed him.”

“Until she saw you, decided to strike up a conversation, and his careful ruse was exposed,” Killian nodded.  “Even so, it requires that this Walsh character consider you incredibly dull.  Would he really assume that you couldn’t put two and two together?  Or that you wouldn’t find a way to talk around that scenario with Zelena?”

“When Walsh is jealous,” Emma began, taking another swig and near-collapsing back in the chair, “that’s all that matters to him.  Plus, after all, I’m a glorified waitress anyway, right? It’s not like the work I do _matters_ , not like selling a freaking loveseat to a middle-aged couple for their summer home. . .”

Killian approached the chair, reaching out to gingerly lift the glass out of Emma’s hand, but her grip was iron.  “Well, I suppose your encounter with Walsh was somewhat of a success after all, then?”

Emma laughed.  “Yeah, I mean, can’t ask for better closure than finding out he’s a lying, traitorous ape.  Plus it sold our cover even better to Zelena.  Time to celebrate!”  Her voice took a dark, angry edge.  “My love life is crap, but our fake engagement is stronger than ever!”  She finished her glass again, and this time bumped against Killian, blocking her way back to the rum.

“Perhaps we ought to get you something to eat before the next round,” He murmured, brows knit together in concern.

“I’m fine,” she grumbled, losing her balance slightly and steadying herself with hands against Killian’s shoulders.  He raised an eyebrow, and she leaned closer to inspect his face.  That genuine worry.  That sincerity.  It was so. . . different.

“Let me stay,” she whispered.

Killian blinked, blue eyes widening in shock.  “Pardon?" 

“Look, we don’t know if Zelena’s gone, she and Walsh were gonna catch up.  I’m clearly not driving any time soon, so we might as well. . . make it convincing.  I can text Elsa, tell her not to wait up, and leave in the morning.  You could probably sneak off later if you and Will have plans or something. . .”

“I’ll stay with you,” Killian cut her off.  “You’re in no condition to be aboard a vessel alone.  Besides, I could be just as easily identified as you.  And I was planning on spending the weekend here anyway.”

“Well then. . .I guess we have the night to ourselves,” Emma smiled.

Killian smiled back, nervously—Emma hazily wondered if she had ever really seen him nervous before.  He hovered, lips inches from hers, for just a second.  Then he gripped her shoulders and guided her back to her seat.

“You should call Elsa,” He scratched behind his ear.  “I’ll. . . I’ll prepare us some sustenance.  No Granny’s, certainly, but still a perfectly serviceable meal.”

Emma fumbled with her phone, cursing herself silently.  She was an idiot—angry, tipsy, maybe even a little bit heartbroken—but an idiot all the same.  How was she going to be able to get back to “friends” after this?

She was too dazed to notice the way Killian’s fingers reverently traced his own lips as he slid out of sight.


End file.
